> A Brief History of Canterlot Castle
>  by Rambling Writer
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

> 1 - Groundbreaking
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

It took a certain degree of care — not a large one, but it was still there — to be able to levitate a spyglass without having one’s magical aura wrap around the eyepieces and tint the whole image. Gabion was reminded of this for the fourth time that evening as he surveyed the construction of the city that wasn’t yet Canterlot from a cliff on the mountainside above it, his heart swelled with pride, and his control slipped again.

To think that this would one day be the capital of all of Equestria, and he was responsible for overseeing its construction! He had no lack of materials, for the Princesses had supplied everything he needed and then some. It would be magnificent. It was already magnificent. The development was coming along at a steady rate, and even with the city not even a quarter done, it was one of Equestria’s most beautiful cities. He could only envision the splendor it would cast in the fu-

“Sir,” muttered Flagstone, “you’re getting teary-eyed again.”

Gabion’s beard tickled as he coughed. “No, I’m not.”

“Yes, you are,” said Flagstone.

“Fine. I am. But can’t you appreciate the aesthetics of architecture?”

“I can without getting all emotional.”

Gabion collapsed the spyglass. “And that lack of attachment, my young filly, is why you are merely Assistant Builder and I am Master Builder and Head Mason.”

Flagstone chuckled. It was a long-running joke between them; she’d lightly mock his attachment to buildings, he’d lightly mock her “lowly” position, and they’d both laugh about it. The moment the laughs died down, Flagstone was serious again. “So? Are the angles good?”

“Very.” Gabion pushed a sheet of parchment to Flagstone, his surveying sketches. “If the castle is placed… on the southern cliff, the Princesses will have nearly-perfect lines of sight to the sun and moon at all times without the rest of the city getting in the way.”

Silence as Flagstone examined the sketches. “Yep,” she said eventually, “this all looks- Hang on.” She laid the sketches on the ground and pulled out her own copy of Canterlot’s plans. “Isn’t this building actually this tower?” She poked at a building on each parchment in turn. “And that would block-”

“Uh, no,” said Gabion, “not quite. See? The angles it makes with this building are wrong. It’s actually this building, right here.”

“Ah. Right. So where-”

“Right here.”

“Oh! Yeah, I see it now. Sorry.”

Gabion turned his attention back to the city. He only distantly remembered it, but he’d had lots of blocks when he was very young and had used them so much his father had joked he’d worn them out. He’d always felt a joy in building something, planning it out and then seeing slowly grow to fill those plans. When he’d gotten his cutie mark after building a particularly impressive sand castle, he’d been ecstatic. It was those same feelings that he felt now: the simple, pure joy of creation. He wasn’t one of the best masons in Equestria because he was naturally talented (although he was) or because he’d spent many sleepless nights studying (although he had), but because nopony else built their heart into their projects quite like he did.

He adjusted the spyglass to take a closer look at one of the buildings. There was a lot of marble going into this city, and it came from all over Equestria. Part of him wondered just how expensive it was. That expense was probably the reason it’d taken Princesses Celestia and Luna so long to build a dedicated capital city. Over a hundred years, really? But if you saved up a few bits each year-

“Excuse me. Sir and ma’am?”

When Gabion pulled away from the glass, a pegasus with the green courier sash had alighted near him and Flagstone. The courier cleared her throat and said, “You’re Head Mason Gabion, correct?”

“Yes,” Gabion said, frowning. “Why?” He’d never liked receiving messages, even ones with good news. Responding to them was another responsibility, and he frequently had his hooves full organizing the construction of a building (let alone a city).

“Her Highness Princess Celestia is at the camp and wishes to speak to you.”

“What?” Gabion jumped up like he’d been stung by a bee right beneath his tail. “I never heard anything about this!” he yelled as he raced along the cliff. “Tell her that I apologize for keeping her waiting, that I had never-”

“Sir, sir!” The courier easily caught up and landed in front of him, forcing him to a stop. “Celestia has assured me,” the courier said levelly, “that no missives were sent out, for the issue at hoof only just came up. Any issues with communication are hers, not yours.”

“Oh, thank the fates,” breathed Gabion. He wiped his forehead down. No, he hadn’t let Princess Celestia down. No, he didn’t have anything he needed to apologize to the Prime Mover for.

Flagstone caught up with them. “So what’s up?” she asked the courier. “Why’s the princess out here?”

“I can’t say,” the courier said with a shrug. “I was simply sent to find you and tell you that you’re awaited. I was also told that any assisting builders could come with you.”

Gabion and Flagstone exchanged a brief glance. Gabion hoped that whatever Princess Celestia wanted to talk about — probably concerning construction — it’d be well-informed. Just because she was immortal and moved the sun didn’t mean she knew how difficult making mortar could be. “Very well,” Gabion said. “We’ll be there in about fifteen minutes.”

The courier saluted. “I shall inform her at once.” She streaked back towards the camp.

“What d’you reckon?” Flagstone asked as she and Gabion walked at a far more leisurely pace. “Obviously, it has to do with the construction of Canterlot, but beyond that…”

“I don’t know,” Gabion said with a shrug, “and until we know, I don’t particularly care. Trust me, stressing out over what a client might change about their design will bring you nothing but trouble. It’s how I got gray hair number eighteen.”

The pair deviated from the path to take a shortcut, climbing hoof over hoof down a short cliff. They reached the ground again on a lower level of the switchbacked road and continued on.

“…Do you think it has something to do with the… with the castle?” Flagstone asked quietly.

At the mere mention of the last word, Gabion’s neck went ramrod-straight. His breathing became loud and strained. How could he not, with that design? “If it is,” he said with an angry calmness, “she’d best have an explanation.” 





It’d taken Gabion a long time to figure out what was “wrong” with Princess Celestia whenever he saw her up close, but he knew now: he was just a unicorn mason, she was an immortal alicorn. Simply put, she didn’t belong in his world. She was somepony to be seen at a distance, somepony to hear stories and songs about, somepony who existed as an ideal. Whenever he approached her, either he was leaving his world or she was leaving hers, but it was wrong however you looked at it, like a scorching desert bordering a glacier.

Even surrounded by building materials and equipment, as he walked up to Princess Celestia, Gabion couldn’t shake the feeling that, at the moment, he was the one intruding on her world. Maybe it was the knowledge that she and her sister were the ones who had funded the construction, that none of this (particularly not him) would be here, now, if it weren’t for her. He was here by her grace and nopony else’s.

At the very least, she certainly looked graceful, with her spread wings and her somehow still-pristine white coat. Even the three guards flanking her on both sides couldn’t detract from that. Her mane constantly dramatically blowing in the nonexistent wind was a bit silly, but Gabion suspected that couldn’t be helped. Princess Luna had it, too; perhaps it was an alicorn thing. A large sky chariot sat behind her, its gilding shining brightly against the muddy, dirty earth.

The atmosphere felt charged as Gabion and Flagstone approached. Not through magic, through feeling, the same way a library was a quiet place even before the rules were enforced. Princess Celestia was somepony who didn’t demand respect, for she didn’t have to; she got it either way. Gabion stopped and bowed to her not because protocol dictated it (although it did), because Princess Celestia was somepony deserving of it. Next to him, Flagstone did the same thing for the same reasons. “Your Majesty,” he said.

“You may rise, Mason Gabion, builder Flagstone,” Princess Celestia said. If a silver bell had a voice, it’d be hers.

Gabion and Flagstone straightened up. Princess Celestia looked past them, at the beginnings of Canterlot. “Construction is coming along well, I see,” she said lightly. Probably an attempt to make herself seem less… other.

It actually worked a little; nothing that moved the sun ought to care about city planning like that, yet Celestia could at least try. “Yes, Your Highness,” Gabion said. “Completely on schedule. We have sufficient materials and workers both, and I have some fine assistant builders.” Next to him, Flagstone almost smiled and her ears stood upright.

“Undoubtedly,” Princess Celestia said, looking at Flagstone, who twitched like she wanted to look away. “Now, that matter at hoof. You remember the castle design you were sent?”

Ah. That. Flagstone had been right. That… thing that was a crime by spectacle against logic and common sense. That “building” jutting off the cliff that would collapse under its own weight before it was half-done. That enormous waste of time. The plans for which he’d only received a week ago, at great expense to his tent and belongings. It’d taken a lot of effort on Flagstone’s part to convince him to calm down. Gabion sucked in a breath, but Flagstone elbowed him in the ribs. Gabion coughed and said, “Yes.” He glanced at Flagstone and gave a brief nod of thanks.

“As you may recall, there was a note saying some details still needed to be ironed out before construction began.”

That note that’d been the only reason Gabion hadn’t marched all the way across Equestria to Princess Celestia’s court and yelled at her to her face. Gabion took another breath. Flagstone elbowed him again. “Yes,” he said.

“Those details have been settled,” Princess Celestia said. “I intend to assist you in the castle’s construction.”

“Yes,” Gabion said reflexively. Flagstone elbowed him and he twitched. “I mean- I’m sorry, did I hear that correctly? You’re assisting us?”

“Indeed,” replied Princess Celestia, nodding. “The design was… extravagant, I’ll admit-” (Gabion’s jaw tightened.) “-and impossible without magic. I shall provide the magic necessary for the castle to be built, given the large power requirements for such a task. Specifically, I will fortify the platform to support the weight. The instructions for the spell involved have been left at your tent, should you wish to peruse it. When will construction begin? I am available as soon as you need me.”

Once he managed to get his thoughts back under control, Gabion looked sideways at Flagstone, who shrugged helplessly. What was he supposed to think about this? It was… downright surreal. Princess Celestia, getting dirty and stacking rocks on top of each other for a castle? Magic or not, that was… But Princess Celestia needed an answer. “A- A week, Majesty,” he said. He fudged on the far side of what he’d normally expect, just in case. Most of the earthen frame had already been excavated; the stones simply needed to be put into place. “We’ll need to- gather the materials necessary, make preparations… those- sorts of- things.” He waved his hoof vaguely, hoping to high heaven that he wasn’t making himself look like an idiot.

Princess Celestia inclined her head. “Very well. I shall be here in seven days, at dawn.”

At least she knew what was expected of workers. Gabion’s brain was still trying to make sense of it all. “I hope you will forgive me, Majesty,” he said, “but if I-” He quickly bowed down. “But if I might ask, why are you using that design? Surely it would be easier for you to simply make the castle smaller or move some houses aside. That particular district of Canterlot has yet to be constructed.” He held his breath as he raised his head again. Maybe this could still bear some semblance of normalcy.

A pause, then Princess Celestia said, “It will demonstrate the strength of Equestria, that we can afford to build something so seemingly risky, that Luna and I, as rulers, will still live in it. Our very confidence in its obvious danger will showcase Equestria’s capabilities. And besides, I like the view.” She giggled, a remarkably girlish sound.

Gabion knew buildings could send messages like that, but he still wasn’t convinced. There were better ways to send that sort of message without resorting to castles. And Canterlot was more-or-less in the center of Equestria; anyone who could see the castle would either be an Equestrian already or have seen dozens of less risky messages of the same type on the trip over.

Well. He’d take extra care to watch the platform as it was built. He’d know if it was going to collapse.

“I see,” lied Gabion. He took a deep breath. “Well, then, Your Majesty, I’ll see you in a week.” He bowed one last time.

“Likewise, Gabion.” Princess Celestia inclined her head and climbed into her chariot. In a few minutes, she was gone, and Gabion’s world was almost back to normal.

Almost.





Gabion quickly gathered the other builders at the site and laid out what Princess Celestia had said. Their reactions were much the same as his: a combination of shock and confusion. After several assurances from him and Flagstone, the collective response seemed to be, “We’ll wait a week and see if it’s true.” The crowd gradually dispersed, leaving him and Flagstone alone on the clear space where the castle would eventually be built.

Even after seeing it herself, after telling others it was true, Flagstone still seemed to have trouble accepting it. Gabion sympathized. “Princess Celestia is going to help us,” Flagstone said again in a flat voice. “And that’s why the plans were so…” She sucked in a breath through her nose. “Yeah.”

“Right.”

“Princess Celestia said she’d left the spell at your tent, right? Can we take a look at it?”

Gabion retrieved the scroll sitting on his cot and unrolled it in front of Flagstone. He didn’t worry at all about it not making sense to her; there wasn’t a chance of that. In spite of him being a unicorn and her being an earth pony, Flagstone understood this sort of magic far more thoroughly than Gabion. She was better at the math. He squinted at the description, struggling with the ornate script. “For the reinforcement and suspension of foundations,” he said.

Flagstone definitely understood it better than Gabion. She read through the whole scroll in a matter of seconds, and it only took a few more for her to come to a conclusion. “It’s a pretty clever spell,” she admitted, “and it’ll do everything we need for the platform, but it’ll take a lot of magic to work properly. I don’t think a dozen ponies could do it.”

“Unless the pony casting it is Princess Celestia, correct?”

“Probably, I guess.”

“Then as long as she shows up, we ought to be set.”

Flagstone snorted. “She better look good in work clothes.”
> 2 - Foundation
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Princess Celestia looked phenomenal in work clothes.

She’d shown up just when she said she would, with rough clothes perfectly suited for the work, and no decorative horseshoes, peytral, or crown. She’d even properly tied her mane and tail back in buns to keep them from getting in other workers’ faces. Dirt and debris smeared her coat before too long, but somehow that just made the white stand out even more.

As Gabion went over the plan one last time with the architects and builders assigned to the castle — most workers would start building the castle on solid ground, while the remainder and Princess Celestia would begin on the platform that didn’t seem quite so accursed anymore — Princess Celestia sat at the back of the crowd and nodded along with the rest of them. When everypony went to their assigned jobs, she left with them without a word to Gabion. He held his breath.

He didn’t like to micromanage, and he was sure that if he saw how Princess Celestia was doing, he’d start micromanaging her. When he did his daily checkup round, he deliberately skimmed past Princess Celestia’s group. No, he didn’t need to see how she was doing. Nope. She’d be doing fine. Definitely.

At the very least, he didn’t hear any complaints. Not until after dinner.

The sun was just below the horizon and Gabion was reviewing his notes for the day when the architect Princess Celestia was working under, a slim red unicorn named Bush Hammer, entered his tent, looking ready to break out in a sweat. “Um, sir?” asked Bush Hammer. “How… precisely do you want the platform’s stones to fit together?”

“As closely as possible,” Gabion said, looking up and frowning. “They were already measured, they shouldn’t have a problem with gaps. Why?”

“Because…” Bush Hammer looked over his shoulder and lowered his voice. “Now,” he whispered, “remember that I’m talking about Celestia the worker, not Princess Celestia the ruler-”

Gabion had to bite down his bile; the table groaned imperceptibly as he pressed his hooves a little harder into it. Of course if something went wrong, it’d be with her. He knew she was a good pony — she’d been ruling Equestria for a hundred years and had come out smelling like roses — but you couldn’t just jump into architecture and construction immediately. It was far different from stacking blocks on top of each other. She was immortal, she moved the sun, and she didn’t know a thing about construction.

But. But maybe there was something more. Gabion did his best to reserve judgment until he’d heard Bush Hammer out.

“-she’s working without complaining,” Bush Hammer continued, “and if I tell her to do something, she does it, but…” Bush Hammer chewed his lip, then blurted, “It’s the stones themselves, sir. She can’t lay them down properly. She’s either smashing them together too hard or leaving gaps between them, and-”

“What sort of gaps?” Gabion interrupted. “How large?” If the platform was being held together by a spell, maybe they could afford some looseness in the design. A few inches wouldn’t be the end of the world.

“At least two feet, sir. Usually more,” said Bush Hammer, and Gabion’s disposition soured even more. “To her credit, I, I don’t think it’s her as much as the size of the stones. She’s trying, but they’re as big as a house. I’m not entirely positive we could do much better with a team of trained unicorns.”

In all honesty? Probably not. To say those stones were as big as a house was an understatement. Simply carving them out and getting them from the quarry in one piece had probably been a feat of arcane engineering. They needed to be so large to minimize the materials and magic needed to hold the platform together, strengthening it. At that size, pure inertia could overcome even the best workings and power. So what if Princess Celestia could move the sun? It wasn’t like the sun needed to be fraction-of-an-inch-perfect in its placement.

Bush Hammer was still talking. “We’re making do by magically siphoning rock from the other blocks and using it to fill the gaps, but at these scales, it’s magically intensive, takes longer, creates weaker bonds, and we might run out of stone if we use too much of it. We’re already a little behind schedule. We need to- talk to her and see if we can get her to improve. And I mean need.” He took a long breath. “I…” he muttered, and hung his head. “I’m sorry, sir, I should’ve told her. But I… didn’t think I could criticize Princess Celestia, so I was… hoping for some… moral support.”

Gabion’s answer was out in a heartbeat. “No.”

Bush Hammer didn’t even sigh. “I understand, sir. I’ll try to talk to-”

“I mean, ‘no’, as in, ‘no, you’re not doing it, I’ll do it’.”

“Sir?” Bush Hammer looked up again. “Sir, you know I can handle this, I just need-”

Gabion held up a hoof and Bush Hammer stopped talking. “I know, Bush. I know that if it were anypony else, you’d have talked to them, walked them through the problem, and probably already solved it with no fuss.” Bush Hammer nodded. “But this is Princess Celestia, and I think that I should be the one to handle this, just in case. I’m less expendable.” Of course, that was leaving out the ulterior motive that he wanted to be the one yelling at Princess Celestia, not Bush Hammer. But Bush didn’t need to know that.

“I see, sir. Thank you.” Bush Hammer didn’t bother hiding the relief in his voice.

“Get some rest tonight. I’ll talk to you and her tomorrow.”





Instead of helping, the princess was messing things up on her own castle. Even though it was accidental, what was Gabion supposed to say about that?

Gabion wanted to think that Princess Celestia could forgive criticisms against her building. He also wanted to retire as the richest pony in Equestria, and there was no way that was happening. His mind kept going back to what if what if WHAT IF and spinning elaborate scenarios involving disgrace to his family name, jail time, banishment, or some combination of all three. But in the end, Gabion knew he had to just grit his teeth and do it.

Morning dawned at the usual time. Apparently, extensive construction labor didn’t hinder Princess Celestia’s ability to raise the sun at all. (Now that he thought about it, Gabion idly wondered if Princesses Celestia and Luna were so strong in magic because they had a unicorn’s magical ability mixed with an earth pony’s endurance.) He didn’t hear any complaints about her except for a quick reminder from Bush Hammer to stop by the platform.

He waited a few hours for everypony to get into the swing of things, then contacted a couple pegasi for his sky chariot. A mason needed to see his craft from all angles, including above or from over a cliff. Gabion was sincerely glad he didn’t have a fear of heights. The chariot took him over the slopes of Canter Mount and slowly curved around where the platform would be.

Gabion wasn’t sure what to expect at the platform. Several blocks had already been laid into place, and although he cringed slightly at their less-than-stellar positioning, it wasn’t too bad. Something would need to be corrected, true, but it looked more like Princess Celestia just needed a nudge in the right direction rather than intensive lessons. Hopefully…

Even as he watched, she crested over the cliff, casually levitating a staggeringly huge block of granite behind her. Several pegasi were following her, occasionally yelling instructions for the block to be moved this way or that. She swooped, hovered alongside the gap where the block was to be laid, and began moving it in.

Gabion instructed the chariot to take him in for a better look. Once he was close, he winced at the sloppy handling of the stone as it moved towards its position. The flaw in its motion wasn’t anything he could describe or pinpoint, he simply knew it was off. Princess Celestia was graceful, Princess Celestia was majestic, and Princess Celestia was terrible at her job.

Still, even though Gabion couldn’t describe what was bad about the movement of the stone, he knew what was bad about Princess Celestia’s spell technique and how to correct it. Before the block was too close to take it back, he did a simple spell to make his voice louder. “Celestia!” he yelled. “You’re doing it wrong!”

Attuned as he was to the sounds of construction, Gabion caught almost every single hammer, saw, and tool on the site going completely silent. He suspected everypony around was looking at him or Princess Celestia, waiting to see how this would play out. Even one of the charioteers was breaking protocol, twisting to stare at him, and the other’s ears were twitching.

“You’re holding it,” Gabion said. “Just let it rest in your magic. Don’t push it and force it; give your magic a tug and let the block follow. I know it’s slower, but it’s more precise.” It was a common mistake among new unicorn builders. Heck, his special talent was masonry and he’d made it countless times. If it were anypony other than Princess Celestia, he’d mention something about how everypony did it, don’t feel bad, before turning his attention elsewhere. To Princess Celestia, somepony who moved the sun itself, that would be condescending to an unbelievable degree.

Princess Celestia looked at him, her expression unreadable at this distance. She turned her gaze to the block, and it might’ve been Gabion’s imagination, but he thought he saw her gulp. “Very well,” she yelled back. When the block started moving again, it was a little better, but not much. Gabion sighed internally; he’d need to handle this personally.

“Stop!” yelled Gabion. “Stop, stop, everypony stop!” Everypony stopped. Including Celestia. “Take me down there,” Gabion said to his charioteers. Once they had landed, Gabion stepped out of the chariot and yelled, “Clear away, ponies! We’re starting this one over! Celestia, move that block away.”

Everything froze then unfroze in rapid succession. Ponies backed away from him like he was infected with a terrible disease. Except for Princess Celestia, who levitated the block out of its hole and alighted daintily next to him. Her expression was unreadable, and if she was straining at all from moving the block, it didn’t show in the slightest. “Yes?” she asked. Her voice was level, but Gabion couldn’t for the life of him say in what way it was level.

Gabion took in the lines of the hole, then walked to one of the corners of the hole, where blocks had already been placed. He laid his cheek flat against the rock and squinted. “Celestia, could you move your rock down a few feet?” he asked.

“Mason,” she said, “I-”

“Celestia,” Gabion heard himself snap. “Move the rock down a few feet.”

A few seconds’ silence. Before Gabion could regret his harshness, the rock moved down a few feet. Its bottom edge was below the platform’s top edge.

Gabion stood up, waved Princess Celestia over, and took a deep breath. He did his best to look her in the eye as she loomed over him. “Your technique isn’t very good,” he forced out. “Even accounting for how large these stones are. You’re trying to pull it, but something that large doesn’t want to be pulled, and it can easily get out of control.”

Princess Celestia blinked. She opened her mouth, paused, and said, “Yes.”

“Imagine this,” Gabion said. “You’re holding a bowl of water, almost full. You need to move the bowl without spilling the water. Go slow and don’t try to overcorrect if you think you’re going to spill a drop, or else you’ll spill more on the other side. Stop moving the bowl, let the water settle, and then move the bowl again.”

Move the bowl, Princess Celestia mouthed. Aloud, she said, “I see. That… does sound intuitive.”

Good sign. “Now, we’re going to try to move the block to this corner,” Gabion said. “If you’re a little bit off, the stones will naturally push it to the right position, as long as you take. It. Slow.”

Princess Celestia nodded and turned her attention to the block. Slowly, and much more smoothly, it drifted toward them.

“Yes, yes, just like that.” Gabion realized he was smiling. “And stars above, take your time. Cutting corners to save a few minutes of work today can mean fixing that mistake in a few hours of work tomorrow.”

Princess Celestia nodded again. The massive block continued its slow trip towards them, but Gabion didn’t flinch. Over the better part of a minute, Gabion kept giving encouragement or making suggestions. “Easy,” he said, “easy, you’re good… A little to the left… Good, good, keep it slow-”

The platform shook slightly as the block slid into the corner, but it was perfectly manageable. “Now,” said Gabion, “let it down slowly. Whatever you do, do not release it until it makes contact with the stone below. There’s less of a chance of anything getting crushed.”

Princess Celestia nodded, her tongue sticking out in concentration and a most unprincessly fashion. Stone ground against stone, sending echoes all across the mountain, as she lowered the block. The top grew closer and closer to the surface of the platform.

“Good, good,” said Gabion. “Keep it like that, no faster, keep it like-”

Thud. The block had been lowered at a slow enough speed, but simple size meant there was a huge rumble when it settled into place. Princess Celestia’s golden haze disappeared and she turned to Gabion, ears trembling.

“Perfect,” Gabion said with a grin. And it was; the block fit into position exactly. He ran his hoof from one block to the next, feeling for a ridge signifying they were out of vertical alignment. Nothing significant. “We’re good,” he whispered, and he pretended not to notice Princess Celestia’s sigh of relief. Raising his voice again, he waved a hoof and yelled, “We’re good, ponies! We’re done here! Back to work!”

Abruptly, Gabion’s hair stood on end as Princess Celestia called on her magic. A flash of light nearly blinded him and made his stomach do a backflip. A few other unicorns nearby reacted the same way, putting their hooves to their chests or clutching their heads. He’d never felt that much power that close before. It was more than a little terrifying, he had to admit. But then, Princess Celestia. She was terrifying once you spent more than a few seconds thinking about what she actually did.

As long as you didn’t see her stick her tongue out in concentration.

Gabion turned to Princess Celestia, a question on his lips, but she answered it before he could speak. “It’s just the binding spell I showed you,” she said. Her voice was casual, but Gabion wondered if she truly understood just how much power she was throwing around. “Bush Hammer said I ought to apply it with every laid block and that it would be good practice for when we finally went over the cliff edge and the rocks would have to be levitated and bound simultaneously.”

Right. That was the protocol. Gabion paused, then inclined his head. “I see. Would you like me to help you again with the next block?”

“No, I think I understand it now. Thank you for the assistance.” Princess Celestia flapped her wings once and laughed sheepishly. Princess Celestia laughed sheepishly. “It’s a bit different from moving the sun, isn’t it?”

Gabion managed to keep a straight face as he said, “I wouldn’t know.”

Princess Celestia giggled.
> 3 - Base
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

After Gabion left Princess Celestia to her work, the rest of the day passed without incident. He surreptitiously checked on how she and Bush Hammer were doing, and everypony seemed much less downbeat than they had been in the morning. His tension began to slip away. No, perhaps this wouldn’t be as bad as he’d thought.

By the time dinner was being served, he’d almost forgotten about the events of the day until Bush Hammer pushed up next to him in the chow line. “Um, sir?” Bush Hammer whispered. But although his voice was low, his spirits were high. “Thank you so much for your assistance today. Celestia’s work has vastly improved and she’s much more accurate now.”

“Mmhmm. How far are we behind schedule now?”

“It’s- A day,” Bush Hammer admitted. “But I’m sure she’ll improve! It’s not that much worse than she was after the first day.”

It was kind of impressive, honestly, to be a day late after only two days of work. But given the rocky start, it could be worse. Gabion decided he’d wait a week, see then. “Very well.” He craned his neck, looking around the open space that was serving as a makeshift mess “hall”. He spotted a certain white horn over in the corner, where nopony else was sitting. “I’ll see how she feels about it.”

Once Gabion had his food, he beelined for that corner. There was a small ring around Princess Celestia’s table where nopony was sitting. Not seeing any reason why not, Gabion sat right across from her. She looked strange, nearly bow-legged from sitting on a seat much too small for her at a table much too low for her, dirt mottling her brilliant coat, her mane and tail still tied up. She was stirring her cheese-and-parsley soup, staring at it intently.

“Hello,” Gabion said. He slurped at his soup.

Princess Celestia looked up and nodded at him. “Hello,” she said. “Eat this fast; the vegetables settle quickly.”

“Mmhmm.” Slurp. “And how did you do after I left?” He believed Bush Hammer; he just wanted to hear how Princess Celestia judged herself.

After a pause, Princess Celestia said, “Acceptably.” She kept stirring.

“To you or to Bush Hammer?”

“Yes.” Her spoon didn’t clink; she wasn’t hitting the sides of the bowl. “I’m not sure how else to say it. I put the foundation stones into place exactly how you showed me, I cast the bonding spell on them, and…” She shrugged.

“Construction in a nutshell,” said Gabion. “A lot of days are uninteresting foundation-laying. But they’re as necessary as every other day.” Even more, really, but Princess Celestia didn’t a lecture on the importance of a proper foundation. He looked around. “Are you not sitting with them or are they not sitting with you?”

“The latter, I fear.” Princess Celestia slurped — slurped! — her soup. “How do you make small talk with an alicorn, particularly one who rules you?”

How, indeed? Gabion did his best to ignore the feeling as he downed another spoonful of soup, but sitting here with Princess Celestia, eating soup, talking about construction, was downright surreal. Alicorn. Rainbow mane and tail. Princess. Big. And he was giving her tips about stonelaying. And she was applying those tips. This was something that shouldn’t be happening.

Perhaps that was why Gabion couldn’t miss the slight strain in Princess Celestia’s voice. The loneliness. She did her best to make light of it, but the isolation was hurting her. He wasn’t in her world; she was in his. She needed some way to be eased in. Even if that way was talking about construction.

How, indeed? “Like this,” said Gabion. “What do you think of the soup?”

Princess Celestia blinked, then looked at her spoon. “…” she said. Then she added, “It’s a bit too salty, but otherwise, quite tasty.”

“Find the cooks and tell them,” said Gabion. “They’re open to suggestions.”

“And you think they’d take me seriously?” Princess Celestia asked. Her ears twitched. “They wouldn’t just think I’m an overly picky princess?”

“Not if you go looking like that. Princesses who’re overly picky don’t look like they’ve been rolling around in the dirt.” Slurp. “Or, if you want, I could tell them.” The soup was a bit salty.

“…No, I think I’ll do it myself,” said Princess Celestia. She picked a large parsley sprig from her soup and nibbled it down, starting from the end. Most undignified. Most relatable.

“Let me know if you need my help on construction again,” said Gabion. “I know how it is. I was a first-timer once, too.”

Princess Celestia smiled. Actually smiled. At him, personally. Gabion’s heart fluttered. “Thank you, even though I doubt I’ll need it. There aren’t many ways that moving blocks can be confusing.”

He almost left it there, but a stray thought ran through Gabion’s head. “Speaking of help, who’s running the country?”

“Luna can handle it,” said Princess Celestia. “It was part of the details that needed to be ironed out. And, yes, we have her own duties fully figured out.”

“Mmm. Let her know how much you appreciate that.”

“I already have.”

They slurped soup in silence. Gabion looked up briefly. Princess Celestia still looked a bit odd without her crown. Which got him thinking- “So how old is your crown?”





In spite of his best efforts, Gabion poked his head in on Princess Celestia and Bush Hammer three or four times that day. Which was odd, as none of those three or four times ever showed any problems that would require further visits. The blocks were fitting together nicely, construction was going on as quickly as could be expected, and everypony seemed to be getting along. Bush Hammer especially seemed especially easygoing, compared to two days ago. Gabion chalked that up to finally adjusting to having Princess Celestia as an underling.

The rest of Canterlot went on as scheduled. Although Gabion liked the rambling, winding roads of his hometown, he couldn’t deny that the more structured, preplanned design of Canterlot made it much easier to navigate the city. It was simply a matter of learning the street names (which he’d done in the weeks after construction of the city had first started) and following them from there.

Gabion deliberately hung back a little when dinner came, looking for- There she was. Princess Celestia was sitting in the same corner, looking for all the world like an isolated, shunned foal. Who was still the most regal pony in the crowd. Again, Gabion sat opposite her once he’d gotten his salad. He glanced at her stance and idly said, “We’ll need to get you a better chair.”

“Oh, no,” said Princess Celestia quickly, “I couldn’t bear getting special treatment just for thi-”

“It’s not special treatment, it’s comfort,” Gabion said around a crouton. “I don’t mean getting you a padded armchair with hoofrests. Just something that allows you to sit without your knees poking you in the face whenever you bend down to take a bite.”

“Oh, it’s not that bad,” Princess Celestia said dismissively. “It is…” She wiggled her rump a little and twitched in a way that Gabion knew was hiding a grimace. “…a bit uncomfortable, I’ll admit, but I can manage.”

“Uh-huh.” Gabion looked at Princess Celestia. He took a bite of his salad.

Princess Celestia looked at Gabion. She didn’t a bite of her salad.

Gabion looked at Princess Celestia. He took another bite of his salad.

Princess Celestia looked at Gabion. She still didn’t a bite of her salad.

“Wonderful salad, isn’t it?” Gabion asked. He realized he was grinning, like he was ribbing Flagstone over some stupid mistake she’d made.

Although she sighed, Princess Celestia was smiling. “Very well. You can have a larger chair built for me.” She bent down and took a bite of her salad. Her knees poked her in the face.

“Of course I can. I’m in charge of all of this.”

They ate.

“You could’ve just levitated the salad itself, you know,” commented Gabion.

“It’s impolite to do that.”

“…You probably shouldn’t listen to the other workers, then.”

Princess Celestia chuckled. “Too late.”





The next day whizzed by, and it was dinner again before Gabion knew it. He went back to the corner and was surprised that- “I only told the carpenters about your need for a better seat this morning,” he said incredulously, “and you already have one?”

For Princess Celestia was sitting lower, in a much more natural position than last night. “It’s not much more than a wood panel on the ground,” she said, “but it’s more than sufficient, thank you.” She took a bite of oats, her knees not bumping her in the face.

“Good,” said Gabion. “Let me know if you need-”

“Hey.” Flagstone pushed her way in next to Gabion. “Celly — mind if I call you Celly?-” (Gabion was briefly mortified, but Princess Celestia looked like she took no offense.) “-Letter Cut and I have a bet going. What’s your peytral necklace thing made of? Letter says it’s solid gold, because he’s an idiot and it’s so thick it would weigh like half as much as you if that were true. I say it’s mostly some lighter metal and gilded in gold. So?” Flagstone made big, questioning eyes. Gabion supposed he’d be a bit more miffed at the impropriety if he hadn’t asked a question about her crown two nights ago.

“It’s actually made mostly of aluminum,” said Princess Celestia. “The core is a frame-”

“Holy crow, aluminum?” Flagstone boggled. “How long did it take to refine all that?” She twisted around and yelled into the crowd, “Hey! Letter! Celestia says her peytral’s made out of aluminum! You owe me!”

“Say it louder,” Gabion whispered, “I don’t think they heard you on the other side of camp.”

Flagstone grinned guilelessly. “Well, since that’s where he is…” She took a deep breath and yelled, “HEY! LETTER! CELESTIA SAYS-” Her shouting match — or to be more precise, her sudden lack thereof — ground to a halt as she looked like she’d been hit in the face with a frying pan. She blinked and rubbed at her mysteriously silent throat. Glowering at Gabion, she muttered, “Very funny.”

Gabion blinked. “What’re you looking at me f-” He blinked again and stared at Princess Celestia.

Her horn was glimmering yellow and she had her mouth covered in a hoof, shaking like she was about to break out in a fit of giggles. “Did- hehe- Did you see the look on her face?”

Flagstone looked like she’d been hit with the frying pan even harder and Celestia’s wings started twitching. Flagstone leaned over and whispered in Gabion’s ear, “The princess is laughing at me. Is that a good sign or a bad sign?”

“I’m- hehe- I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” said Celestia, getting her laughter under control. “I know I shouldn’t, but do you know how long it’s been since I’ve really let my mane down? Or…” She batted at the netted bun that was her mane and shrugged. “Holding decorum can be hard work, and… and…” She met eyes with Flagstone, reddened, and suddenly became incredibly interested in her turnover.

“It’s good,” Flagstone stage-whispered to Gabion.

Celestia’s wings slackened and she raised her head again. “I’m sorry, truly,” she said. “I didn’t mean to offend you in the sli-”

“And you didn’t,” interrupted Flagstone. “It’s just… you, princess, me, builder…” She made vague gestures between the two of them and shrugged. “How do you react to that?”

“Mmhmm.” Celestia nodded. She opened her mouth, then closed it again. “Perhaps I need a vacation,” she mused.

“You could hold some kind of…” Gabion paused as he dug for suggestions. “…annual royal ball, or something.”

Celestia grimaced. “I’d rather not. As princess, I’d be expected to meet and greet all night. It would be more of a hassle than my duties already are.”

“Maybe you could trade off with Luna every hour.”

“Maybe.” But Celestia still didn’t look convinced.

A voice, semi-muffled by the crowd, wafted over to them. “-of the way!” A bulky earth pony pulled himself from the pack, bumped against the table, and quickly stood up straight. “You’re kidding me, Flagstone,” he said flatly.

“Am not!” Flagstone said cheerily. “Just ask her!” She gestured at Celestia.

Letter Cut did a double-take when he saw Celestia right there. His legs and ears twitched before he managed to get himself under control with a deep breath. “So…” His mouth worked but he didn’t say anything for several seconds. “Aluminum?”

“It’s mostly a hollow frame of aluminum,” said Celestia. “The gold comes from gilding. Can you imagine how heavy it would be if it were solid gold?”

“Not too heavy for you, I’d thought.” To Flagstone, Letter Cut said, “Fine. A deal’s a deal. You’ll get your bits tomorrow.”

“Ha! Yesssss.”

Letter Cut raised a foot to leave, then paused and looked around. He vanished into the crowd.

“Anyway,” Flagstone said, hopping off the bench, “thanks for the win, but I don’t want Caisson stealing any more of my dinner than he already has, so I gotta get going.”

“Sure,” said Gabion with a wave. “Be seeing-”

Letter Cut popped back out of the crowd, carrying his dishes in his mouth or balancing them on his head. “There’s a lot more room here,” he said preemptively once he’d put his dishes on the table. “I hope you don’t mind my butting in, Celestia.”

“Oh, not at all!” Celestia said, smiling. “I rather enjoy getting to know my little ponies.”

Flagstone looked at the tables, then at the open space around her. “I’ll be right back,” she said.





A week passed smoothly.

“You haven’t said a thing about the food not being up to snuff,” said Bush Hammer.

“It’s not what I’m used to, but it’s not bad,” said Celestia. “It’s more than acceptable as food for workers. I wasn’t always a princess, remember.”

Voussoir frowned. “Like what? I’ve… To be honest, I’ve never heard a thing about you and Luna before you vanquished Discord.”

But Celestia just smiled as she chewed at her carrot.





A month.

“-but when Viridia opened the package,” Celestia said, barely managing to keep her chuckles under control, “do you know what she found? A hairbrush!”

The entire table collapsed into laughter. Gabion nearly choked when he snorted in his water and he was pretty sure he saw Flagstone spray soup from her nose.

“Needless… hehe… Needless to say, that knocked the wind out of her sails for a while,” said Celestia. “But, thankfully, at least one lesson stuck: she never tried to bribe mailmares again.”

Gabion pushed close to Celestia and said, “You know, no offense, but it’s a bit reassuring that nearly every level of society finds midlevel nobles like that to be puffed-up, self-important stots.”

“They’re even worse for me!” said Celestia. “At least you don’t have to deal with them constantly brownnosing you!”

“Heh. Very true, very true.”





Another.

“Well,” Gabion said, frowning at the map, “if we put the waterwheel in a canal just before the waterfall, then… I… think we’d get pretty constant hydroarcanic generation. I’m not completely certain, though. We’d need to talk with an arcanophysicist.”

“And it wouldn’t interfere with the construction of Canterlot?” Celestia asked. “Or- the construction of Canterlot wouldn’t interfere with it?”

Gabion tapped a few points on the map, all in canals. “Not at these points. We haven’t started building anything yet, and there aren’t many buildings planned there anyway. Based on the current rate of construction, we won’t start there for… another two or three years.”

“Perfect. I’ll send for the proper unicorns to take a look in due time.”

“If this works, it’ll be great.”





And the seasons turned onward.
> 4 - Framework
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Gabion wished Celestia could help them with the whole castle and not just the platform; after merely half a year, the platform was almost complete. It was, contrary to his original expectations, holding together magnificently. Even after repeated measurements, he couldn’t find the slightest dip in it. Another week, give or take, and it would be done.

He walked over the platform one last time for the day, still chewing on the pulpy remains of the last cherry of dinner. Block after block, flawlessly fitted together and hanging over the world. He wasn’t one to abuse the word “sublime”, but just this once, he absolutely meant it. He considered getting the water level out again, but why bother? He’d tested it almost a dozen times over the past week, and it was perfect every time. By now, his “tests” were mostly just ego-stroking so that he could look at the identical water levels in each tube and be smug for his workers.

The platform was so perfect that a large part of him though that cladding it in marble was a waste, covering up some of the best stonework he’d ever seen. But cladding was happening, with the outer blocks being carved to curves to be covered with marble, which would then be magically bonded together to appear as one single, seamless piece. It would look pretty, but it would also look far too clean for Gabion’s tastes, too neat and tidy. Then again, he wasn’t the one having the castle built.

When he reached the current edge of the platform, Gabion leaned over. A straight drop, hundreds of feet down to the bottom of the cliff. Even if it wouldn’t fall, the design was still stupid. He worked the cherry pit in his mouth into position, then spat it out over the edge.

“Somepony down there’s going to be very confused.”

Gabion twitched at Celestia’s voice. For somepony three or four times the size of him, she could be incredibly quiet, on the hoof or on the wing. He hadn’t even felt any vibrations from her steps. But he kept his gaze forward, himself composed, and said, “We could all use a little confusion from time to time. It gets us out of our ruts. This one time, about six months ago, there was a princess who told me she wanted to help build her castle…”

“Oh, come now,” Celestia said, taking a seat next to him. A few strangely colored strands of her mane were hanging out of her bun. “I heard she wasn’t that bad.” She gave him a playful nudge on the shoulder.

“She wasn’t, not at all,” said Gabion. “But I was very confused those first two days.” He looked up at Celestia. “And I imagine she was, too.”

“She was,” Celestia said quietly, but she was smiling.

“And it gave me a new perspective on things.” Gabion looked over the foothills below again. “I probably wouldn’t have considered them otherwise. So I’m grateful.”

Celestia’s wings and ears twitched. “I’ll- be sure to let her-”

“You can stop trying to be coy, we both know you know what I’m talking about.”

“…Then thank you for letting me know.”

Gabion sat next to Celestia, holding his head high so the wind could twirl through his mane. He breathed deeply; the air was unusually clear in a way he couldn’t place. If it hadn’t been for the overhang, the castle definitely would’ve been a place he wanted to live. The atmosphere up here was so peaceful. Unfortunately, that would probably be ruined once Canterlot was completed and ponies moved in.

An immensely powerful pulse of magic next to Gabion made his coat stand on end. In the distance, the sun slid below the horizon. He knew what he’d see, but Gabion still glanced over to take a look at Celestia’s glowing horn. She didn’t look the least bit strained by the effort, regarding the moving celestial body with slightly less attention than Gabion would give a crane-lifted stone.

Gabion forced himself to ignore the implications of that and looked over the foothills again. The sunset had painted them in gorgeous shades of pink and orange and thrown them into sharp relief against the ground, casting long shadows. Beyond, as the plains rolled on, hamlets and villages threw shade of their own, broken up by points of white as their inhabitants lit lamps. The expanse meant it felt like all of Equestria was spread out beneath them.

“Beautiful land, isn’t it?” asked Celestia. She flexed her wings.

“Mmhmm,” was all Gabion could say. It was, but he wasn’t a poet and didn’t think he could do it justice.

“Why do you think I chose this location for the castle?” Celestia asked. “If I can have one of the finest views in Equestria every day… well, why not?”

But Gabion heard something in her voice, something he never would’ve heard a few months ago. It sounded… forced. Like an excuse she’d trot out. She was hiding something. And before he caught himself, he heard himself asking, “Is this really just about the view?”

Celestia’s wings and ears twitched, just a little.

“You could’ve moved the castle back,” continued Gabion, “or made it slightly smaller to avoid going over the edge and still gotten almost the same view.” He looked up at Celestia. “I’m not as good with ponies as you, but I know when something doesn’t fit together.”

Celestia rustled her wings as she stared at the sunset. “No,” she said at last. “Not completely, in any case. It was a way for me to force myself out of my ivory tower and remind myself that I need to care for Equestrians, not simply Equestria.” Her words sounded far more genuine than before. “Performing a job that requires this much cooperation obliges me to engage with more ordinary ponies than any other.” She paused, the wind tugging at her mane, and added, “It prevents me from getting in a rut.”

Gabion looked at Celestia again, but this time, he looked at her. He remembered the ways he’d thought of her: regal, graceful, peerless… She hadn’t been a pony before construction on the castle began, she’d been an ideal. No wonder she wanted to get out and about. She’d been alone in a crowd, surrounded by nopony but principles, for who knew how long. “And… I don’t want to sound presumptive, but was building an entire castle like this-” He banged his hoof on the platform. “-truly the best way to go about that?” he asked.

“I’d say ‘least bad’ would be more accurate,” said Celestia. “There are only so many ways I can leave the throne and not attract suspicion. Believe me, if there had been a safer, easier way for me to mingle, I would have done exactly that, and I never considered doing it this way until I was completely certain the platform could support the castle’s weight. I wasn’t lying when I said the castle would send a message, but there are far more efficient ways to send that message.”

His first instincts on the design had been right. Gabion smirked to himself. “Oh, come on, if friendship was all you wanted,” he said, “you could’ve just told me. You, me, a few nights together a week, just talking… It couldn’t have been that hard.”

“Do you really think so?” For the first time since he’d met her, Celestia’s voice gained the slightest hint of steel. When she looked down at him, her eyes had lost an iota of their warmth. “Answer me honestly. If I’d told you I wanted to connect with commoners, how would you have reacted?”

“I’d-” Gabion caught himself. He wanted to say he would’ve acted the same way as he had in the past few months, but the more he thought, the less likely it seemed. She still would’ve been a princess he needed to please, not a lonely worker who needed help moving stones. He would’ve been her friend because she wanted him to be, not because she was a kindhearted, intelligent pony. “In all likelihood, things… would’ve… gone badly,” he admitted. “Nothing would be real.”

“Precisely.” Celestia was soft again. “I wish it weren’t, but my every action with my subjects is tainted with our differences in…” Her voice trailed off as she searched for a word. “In everything. These… ulterior motives are the only way I can hope to interact with other ponies on an equal plane.”

“Our worlds don’t play nice together,” Gabion whispered to himself.

The sky darkened as Celestia continued lowering the sun. Once the stars were coming out, Gabion stood up and stretched his legs one at a time. Lighting his horn, he turned back to the camp, Celestia close behind. Stone crunched beneath their hooves as they walked across the flat granite plain.

“I’ll miss you,” Celestia suddenly said.

Gabion kept walking for another ten feet before he realized what she’d said. He looked over his shoulder at her. “Me?” he said incredulously. “Celestia, I- I’m just a mason. I’m nopony special-”

“When a lonely pony wasn’t fitting in at her workplace,” Celestia said calmly, “you helped her. When she was doing her job incorrectly, you helped her. You are-” Her voice hitched. “You’re one of the first ponies to truly see me as anyone but Celestia Sol Invictus in… a long, long time.”

Gabion quickly looked forward so Celestia wouldn’t see the blood rushing to his face. “I… couldn’t let you… stay… like… like that,” he fumbled. “I… didn’t… I wasn’t trying to be… special, or… notable.” Was she serious? She would miss him? He’d barely considered what would happen when she was gone. Yet now that he thought about it, it was probably because he’d been wilfully ignorant of the fact that, yes, one day, she would be gone. He’d miss her, too.

“You might be surprised how rare that quality can be,” Celestia said. A touch bitterly? “Many avoid me because they think themselves not good enough to be near me. You didn’t care.”

“You were- a- worker who- needed help.” Gabion winced at his own words. Of course she’d miss him. His own objections were why she’d miss him. It was what she was helping build the castle for.

He knew what Celestia would say before she opened her mouth. “Precisely.”

Gabion swallowed. “Well- I’m- glad to have known you.” In a desperate attempt to break the tension, he said, “Please don’t start breaking the foundation blocks to stay longer. They’re expensive, you know.”

“Of course I know.” A dozen layers of seriousness had dropped from Celestia’s voice. “I’m paying for them.”

They walked. Rock crunched. Lights were coming on in the camp as they continued approaching it.

A wild idea, triggered by the exercise, sprang into Gabion’s brain, and he threw it out on a whim. “If you want to stay in touch,” he joked, “we could be pen pals.”

Silence. Gabion felt his face warm again. Was the joke in poor taste, somehow? Or-

“I think I’d like that,” Celestia said seriously.
> 5 - Partition
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------



Dear Princess Celestia,

I’m sorry this letter is so late, but it was a busy week and I’d forgotten to set aside time to write it…



It was strange enough, Gabion thought, that he was writing letters to Celestia, ranging from weekly to semi-weekly, but stranger still that she was writing back, and writing back personally. As his quill traced out black lines and curves in the flickering lamplight, Gabion idly turned back time in his mind; he’d been doing this, having casual correspondence with one of Equestria’s diarchs, for over a year and a half. Most ponies would gnaw their own legs off for this opportunity. And Gabion just wanted to write his letter.

It was late, some time after sundown. It was the first free moment Gabion had had all day, after an intense argument with one of his assistant builders on the consistency of some of their new mortar. Tomorrow wasn’t looking much better on that front. So he was left up after his bedtime, scratching away at a sheet of parchment. He set his quill down for a moment to suppress a yawn.

There was some ruckus outside. Gabion ignored it; it didn’t sound serious.



…had a disagreement today on mortar. I’ll spare you the technical details; they could bore even most builders…



More ruckus. Yelling. Gabion wished he had a pair of earmuffs to block it out. Scratch scratch.



…issue of ease of creation versus long-term strength. Don’t worry, it’s far less dire than it sounds…



Hooves beat against the ground outside. The tent flap flew open and a courier nearly fell inside. “Um, excuse me,” she said uncertainly. “But, uh, the princess just arrived and she’s here to see you.”

Gabion snorted and didn’t glance from his writing. “If she’s going to come this late, Princess Celestia can-”

“Princess Luna.”

A pin was jabbed into Gabion’s flanks and he was halfway across the camp with the courier before he realized it. He’d spent so much time talking with Celestia that he’d nearly forgotten that Princess Luna existed at all. Logically, of course, she did — how else would the moon move? — she was simply never on his mind.

In less than a minute, he skidded a halt in front of Princess Luna and her chariot. Before construction on the castle had begun, he’d thought her so similar to her sister, the same separation of worlds. But now, after seeing both of them up close, they seemed so different. Celestia was sleek like a kingfisher; Luna was sleek like a tiger. Luna’s blue coat almost looked like it was hiding something or that there ought to be something more in it. And she was… cold. The flickering light of the torches cast strange shadows on her face that made her feel distant and odd, as if she were a pristine statue in crumbling ruins. She looked down at Gabion with an expression that wasn’t quite a frown.

“Princess Luna,” he said, bowing, so low his beard tickled the ground.

“Mason,” Princess Luna said tautly. “I would like to see your progress on my sister’s and my castle.”

Gabion twitched. “Now?” he asked, tentatively raising his head. A yawn attempted to force its way out of him.

“Is there a problem with doing it now?” asked Princess Luna. Her voice sounded a touch hostile, somehow. “It is the best time for myself.”

“No,” Gabion said quickly. “It was- merely- a surprise, is all, Your Majesty.” He stood up. “The castle isn’t finished yet, so you can’t see the whole thing, but-”

“I realize that, mason,” cut in Princess Luna. “Nevertheless…”

When Gabion realized Princess Luna wasn’t going to continue, he bowed again. “Then if you’ll follow me…”

Thankfully, even if the castle hadn’t been completed, enough of it had been built for lamps to be put up, so in spite of the lateness of the hour and the crescent moon, there was more than enough light to see by as Gabion led Princess Luna to the castle. He wasn’t sure what she was looking for, so he settled for pointing out anything that could be relevant. “As you can see,” he said, “the stonework of the gate is almost done. We hope to have the portcullis in in about three weeks — it’s still under construction — and the drawbridge is completely functional.” He glanced over his shoulder.

“Hmm.” Princess Luna glanced vaguely at the fortified walls. Gabion had seen that look before; her attention was elsewhere. “I was told the walls would glimmer.”

“There’s still cladding that needs to be done,” Gabion said quickly. “Once we have the core of the wall up, it’ll be covered with stone enchanted to reflect moonlight and starlight.”

Princess Luna’s ears twitched. “Hmm.”

“…The, the grounds here, I’m sorry they don’t look like much, we haven’t even begun landscaping…”

With a long, currently bare walk from the gates to (the beginnings of) the castle, Gabion was strapped for things to talk about. Princess Luna wasn’t helping things at all, staying mostly silent the whole way. Whenever he stole a glance at her, she was looking at some architectural feature without really seeing it or looking at him and very much seeing him. He did his best to keep his face straight.

“And, of course, the front gate to the main building,” Gabion said, gesturing grandly at said gate. It was mostly complete, if only to look nice, and torches burned brightly in their sconces. “We’ve got a lot of the rooms behind here completed, including the throne room, so if you’d like to see them-”

“Mason.”

Gabion froze at the sound of Princess Luna’s voice. He slowly turned around. She was looking at- no, analyzing him. What for, he couldn’t say. He quickly inclined his head in a brief bow. “Yes, Your Majesty?”

“I understand you… have something of a relationship with my sister,” said Princess Luna. She flicked her tail and her gaze bore into him like a drill.

The statement might as well have been lined with poison stakes. It was the deliberately-vague comment meant to garner a response for judgment. Gabion forced himself to not swallow. “We write letters,” he said, hoping it didn’t sound dismissive. “It’s nice, and she’s a- very interesting pony.” He hoped the emphasis would convey that he was writing to Princess Celestia, not Princess Celestia.

“She speaks highly of you.”

Gabion’s muscles promptly stopped working and he felt ready to melt. Princess Celestia telling Princess Luna he was a good pony? Why? That- That- No. He was just a- But he’d already used that argument with Celestia herself, hadn’t he? And she had decided his best arguments weren’t remotely good enough. Public speaking not being one of his stronger traits, it wasn’t that surprising, and yet…

Was he really nothing special, or was he something? Was it just his ability to treat Celestia as pony that she so valued? His capacity to listen without wanting something from her or fawning over her? His plain, simple acceptance of her? His-

He yanked himself back to the present. “Oh,” he said, and forced himself to bow a little. “I try.” Not really. It just came naturally.

“She especially valued the way you listened,” Princess Luna said quietly. She didn’t take her eyes from him.

“I- saw that- she needed it,” Gabion said. “She was- alone and- needed help. And then we- kept it up once she left.” He felt like he was walking on a bed of nails, and the slightest mistake would end with him skewered. And he didn’t even know why.

Silence. Princess Luna kept staring at him. Her face was blank, pensive.

“Is… Is something wrong? Your Majesty?” Gabion asked.

For a few seconds, nothing. Then Princess Luna turned away to look up at the door’s archway. “No,” she said quietly. Her voice sounded tired. “Nothing’s wrong.” A pause. “I would like to see the throne room, if you please.”

“Oh- Oh, yes, of course, right this way.” Gabion led Princess Luna deeper into the castle, quietly thanking the stars that she wasn’t looking at him like that any more.

Gabion pointed out different features of the castle as they passed them, noting when something was still under construction. “That way goes to the barracks — it’s boring, trust me… The royal apartments are- um, will be down that corridor… The banquet halls are over there… And here we go, the throne room.” He pushed the door open and bowed as Princess Luna walked in.

In all honesty, it wasn’t a throne “room” so much as a throne “hall”. The place was gigantic, with the ceiling alone towering seven or eight stories above them. Each wall was lined with magnificent stained glass windows; moonlight streamed in through the ones on the right. The room itself stretched out ahead of them; it’d take a good ten seconds (at least) to gallop from one end to the other. And far, far on the end was the multi-tiered dias that would eventually hold the throne. It was already impressive, with one level alone almost as tall as the average pony.

“The throne will be over there,” Gabion said, pointing. “If you’ll just-”

Princess Luna’s horn glowed. Powerful magic rippled across Gabion’s coat and, for a single instant, it felt like he was getting stuffed down an inch-wide pipe. “-follow me…” He blinked to orient himself, which didn’t help, considering he’d crossed the room in less time for said blink to happen. He alternately stared at the door he’d just exited and his current location as Princess Luna ascended the dias to examine it more closely.

By the time Gabion had properly grasped what had happened, Princess Luna was talking. “Perhaps it is merely me,” she said, “but this… stand seems rather small to hold two thrones.”

“It’s not just you,” Gabion said, quickly pulling his mind together. “There’s only going to be one throne.”

Princess Luna looked down at him. “But one?” she asked. It might’ve been Gabion’s imagination, but it sounded accusatory.

“It’s Celestia’s during the day and yours during the night,” said Gabion. “Having one throne be unoccupied all the time would be unbalanced.”

“And should we both be required in court at the same time?”

“…Um.” Princess Luna’s not-quite glare hammered into Gabion like river rapids and his mouth dried out. “I… suppose… either you or Celestia would be in the throne, depending on the time, and the other would stand at her right hoof. Perhaps.”

Princess Luna pursed her lips.

“With respect, Your Majesty,” Gabion said quickly, “I didn’t design this castle.”

“Hmm.” Princess Luna looked at the dias for a moment longer before striding down. “Mason, I have seen all I need to. I th-”

Gabion remembered something at the last moment. “Wait. We’ve finished and clad one of the towers on the outer wall with the glimmering stone you mentioned. If you’d like a better idea of what the castle will look like, we can visit that before you go.”

After a second, Princess Luna’s head twitched up and down. “Yes,” she said, “I think I would.”





In spite of just being a guard tower, the structure was almost out-of-place in how beautiful it was. Soft, pure white against the mottled gray of the unclad walls, it glowed subtly in the starlight, like the moon, with scattered motes seeming to twinkle. It wasn’t very tall, but it was far more elegant than it had any right to be. Even the silver-trimmed pennant flapping from the roof looked grand.

When Princess Luna saw it, her wings twitched and her eyes widened slightly. “This… is… most agreeable,” she said. She took to the air, scanning it from multiple angles. Gabion sat and waited, stifling a yawn. He wasn’t sure what she saw in it, but if it made her happy, what the hay.

Several minutes later, Princess Luna alighted again in front of Gabion, still looking at the tower. “It is… like solid moonlight,” she said quietly. “Or perhaps that is merely my own bias.”

Gabion shook his head. “It’s not just you. It…” He scratched his head. “I think the precise phrasing Celestia chose for the look was, ‘bring the moon down to Equestria’.”

“…Yes. That has been done admirably.” Princess Luna’s mouth twitched. It almost looked like she was going to smile. But then the moment passed and she was stoic again. “Thank you for your time, Mason Gabion,” she said, inclining her head. “I am pleased to see that construction continues as scheduled.”

Gabion bowed deeply. “And thank you for your time. It is a pleasure to serve.”

After that, Princess Luna departed and Gabion headed back to his tent. His weariness, though undeniably there, wasn’t overtaking him like he’d feared it might. There was something strange, electrifying about Princess Luna, something that wasn’t in Celestia. Maybe, if he knew Princess Luna better, he could’ve said what, but not after less than an hour.

He wanted to go to bed, but he had a letter to finish for Celestia. He scribbled out the remainder of the thought that’d been interrupted, added a little bit about Luna, and looked the letter. It was short, but it’d have to do.



I apologize for this letter being so short, but it’s late and my bed is crooning sweet nothings into my ear.

Your faithful servant,
Gabion

P.S. Luna needs to work on her people skills.



And with that, Gabion blew out the lamp.
> 6 - Fortification
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Canterlot was completed. Canterlot Castle was completed, the platform supporting it perfectly. Ponies swarmed the capital, ready to live and work in it. Shops, residences, all the infrastructure had been laid out years in advance. From the slopes of Canter Mount, it shone, glistened, like nothing else in Equestria. It was a thing of beauty, a work of architectural artistry unparalleled anywhere else in the nation, perhaps even the world. And Gabion had had a hoof in almost every aspect of its collective construction.

But Gabion pondered that perhaps it said something about himself and Celestia that he’d just finished the greatest project of his life, one of the greatest projects of the nation, yet his only thoughts were on how she hadn’t changed in the slightest.

Eight whole years, and Celestia was exactly as Gabion remembered her from when construction began. It was one thing to hear that she was immortal, read of great deeds she’d done a hundred years ago, or note from a distance that she hadn’t grown much while he did; it was quite another to see if firsthoof, up close and personal. Not a single wrinkle, not single crick in her joints, not a single strand of gray in that ethereal mane. Gabion couldn’t say the same for himself; his mane and beard were slowly getting paler, he hit the ground harder than he used to, his left rear knee was beginning to throb, and his beard was making him look weathered and worn rather than tough. He felt like he was talking more slowly, too, but he couldn’t tell.

As Gabion had been the head mason for Canterlot’s construction, he’d been roped into having a place of honor at the official completion ceremony, close to the princesses. He loathed ceremonies with a passion, with all their speeches and boring sitting around, but he couldn’t bring himself to turn down Celestia, neither as a princess nor (he was surprised to say) a friend. So, as the ponies pontificated, he sat by close to the stage and forced himself to stay awake.

When the eternal torment finally stopped and the attendees moved to the ballroom, a worn-out Gabion hung around the fringes of the ball, staying more out of politeness for Celestia than anything else. All the other guests, the nobility and the gentry, felt downright alien to him, something out of another world with their upturned noses and glistening manes and altogether too pristine clothes. He wanted nothing more than to go home, get into bed, and sleep with absolutely zero responsibility for the first time in almost a decade, but he felt it proper to try to see Celestia at least once.

Unfortunately, the good opportunities to even try were few and far between. Celestia always seemed to be thronged with ponies attempting to get into her good graces. (If only they knew…) Gabion didn’t even try pushing through to her, but hung back and waited for the crowd to disperse. But whenever somepony left, two more ponies arrived to take their place. And sometimes two someponies arrived without somepony leaving at all. He’d be waiting a while.

Gabion sighed, sipped wine from his mug, and nibbled at the cheese slice that remained of his refreshments. Around him, ponies danced in expensive clothes and talked about expensive things, and he wanted no part of it. He didn’t belong and he didn’t care to belong. He squinted at Celestia, but her expression was hard to make out. She was smiling at the ponies surrounding her, but anypony could smile.

A unicorn in a silk suit with a monocle stepped from the crowd, staring at Gabion like he was from a carnival freakshow. Considering the golden tassels on the suit, peasants probably qualified as a freakshow to him. Gabion didn’t care. “Yo,” he said.

The unicorn coughed. “Greetings. I am Marquis Viridian Splendor,” he said after some hesitation.

Gabion grunted and didn’t take his eyes from Celestia. “Gabion.”

Viridian raised an eyebrow. “Just Gabion?”

“Yep.”

“Not even an esquire?” Viridian’s eyes flicked up and down Gabion’s simple clothes and his lip curled slightly.

“Nope.”

Viridian huffed. Gabion wondered just how nobles could huff so… eloquently and intricately. It was like there was an entire speech contained within that huff of Viridian’s, one that had many negative things to say about “Oh! I say! The peasantry! I say! Such rabble! I say!” and other subjects along those lines. Gabion didn’t listen. He’d had enough of speeches for the night.

“To think one such as you could get in,” Viridian said in an obviously fake whisper. “The guards’ standards must be slipping.”

“Or maybe I’m important and was invited and was polite enough to come,” Gabion said blandly. He still didn’t look at Viridian. “Do I look like I want to be here?”

“…P-perhaps… not…” Viridian said. He shook his head. “But what could one such as you possibly have to offer?”

“This, for starters.” Gabion waved a hoof around the room. “I oversaw the whole castle’s construction from beginning to end.”

Viridian looked around the room. “You oversaw it,” he said derisively. “How difficult. It’s watching other ponies putting stones together.”

Luckily for Viridian, Gabion wasn’t so far gone that he had no self-control, or else he would’ve introduced Viridian’s face to the bottom of his mug, repeatedly and enthusiastically. Another “noble” git, talking from his rump about a topic he had absolutely no authority on. “It’s trickier than it looks,” Gabion said, not caring about how weak a defense it sounded. “You know how Celestia assisted in the construction? I had to teach her how to properly use her magic.”

Viridian looked like he’d been told that rain fell up. “You. Taught Celestia. Magic.”

“Now you’re just repeating me. Stop it.”

“Oh, yes,” Viridian said dryly. “You — a mere builder — taught Princess Celestia Sol Invictus, who was alive before our grandparents were, she who moves the sun itself, magic. Indeeeeed.” He glanced at Celestia and the throng surrounding her. “Oh, and look, she can’t even deny it, for she’s too busy. How convenient.”

Alcohol, fatigue, and annoyance conspired together, and Gabion made a decision. “I’m sure she won’t mind stepping away for a few moments to confirm it,” he said. He took a deep breath and bellowed, “HEY! CELESTIA!”

In the space of three seconds, the ball stopped. Nopony moved. Nopony said anything. The musicians were silent. Everypony alternated between staring at Gabion and staring at Celestia. The only sound was the echoes of Gabion’s shout. Viridian appeared to have forgotten how to breathe and his eyes had grown a few inches wider. “You blithering, lowborn idiot,” he whispered. His legs were shaking, but his hooves were as still as if they’d been glued to the floor. “I didn’t mean-”

“Too bad,” Gabion whispered, and inhaled again. “I WAS WONDERING IF YOU COULD SETTLE AN ARGUMENT BETWEEN ME AND MARQUIS VIRIDIAN HERE!”

“You shouldn’t have named me why did you name me I WILL SEE TO IT THAT YOUR FAMILY NAME IS FOREVER RUINED-” hissed Viridian.

Celestia reached out to nudge some of the ponies in her surrounding crowd aside, but she’d barely lifted her hoof before every single pony between her and Gabion stepped out of the way and then some, clearing a path almost seven feet wide. When Celestia strode down it, her hoofsteps echoed cavernously throughout the ballroom, like foundation stones falling into place. (Was that first day really eight whole years ago? Wow.) It took a few eternal seconds for Celestia to reach the pair. She looked down at them expressionlessly, her eyes rapidly flitting between Gabion and Viridian.

Viridian hastily bowed to her, his horn nearly plowing a furrow in the floor. Too tired to bow as well and too friendly with Celestia to care, Gabion just raised his mug in greeting. “Highness.” (Viridian looked between Gabion and Celestia with rapidly-increasing terror and confusion.)

Finally, Celestia smiled. “I was wondering when I’d get a chance to speak to you, Gabion,” she said. (Viridian spasmed and looked like he was going to vomit.) “I’m afraid I’ve been caught up with… ponies, but I can spare a moment.”

“Yeah, Marquis Viridian here-” Gabion casually threw a leg over Viridian’s withers. Viridian didn’t move; he’d even stopped shaking. “-was saying that I probably wasn’t important in building this castle, and I was saying I was, because I helped you with your magic, and we were hoping you could clear things up for us.”

Celestia’s smile twitched in that way that meant she was thinking very, very quickly. After only a second, she laughed and said, “Well, of course you were important! The castle never would’ve been completed without the instruction you gave me in the first week!”

Viridian’s mortified shock quota ran out and he slipped into a dull, expressionless daze. “I see,” he said tonelessly, weakly pushing Gabion’s leg off him.

“Yes, laying a proper foundation is much more complicated than moving the sun.”

Gabion twitched at that — was she making things up for him or did she mean it? Viridian, on the other hoof, finally broke completely. He mumbled, “Heh beh,” turned, and walked into the crowd with a vacant expression on his face. Gabion looked after Viridian, shrugged, and said, “Thanks for that.”

“There’s a balcony down there,” Celestia said, pointing down a hall, “you know the one. If you’re willing to wait fifteen minutes, I can talk with you alone there.”

“Thank you,” Gabion said, bowing. “I’ll be there.” He took a step towards the hallway.

The crowd promptly unfroze and suddenly Gabion was surrounded by ponies chattering about Celestia. “How you do know her?” “How long have you known her?” “What did you do?” Wherever he turned, there were more ponies pressing in on him.

“Run,” Celestia whispered, “before they use you to get to me.”

Gabion took one look at the crowd surrounding him and immediately bolted.





The balcony overlooked Canterlot, with all its lamps being lit in a sea of stars as the sun set. Torches flickering in their sconces illuminated the balcony. Gabion didn’t watch it at all; he’d seen the sight before. He slouched on the bench in a daze. More than once, he stifled a yawn. At least the guards were nice enough to make sure he had some solitude.

The door creaked open. Gabion turned to say that he wasn’t going to talk about Celestia, only to be confronted with a guard levitating a plate with a large slice of cake on it. “Her Majesty will be out in a few minutes,” the guard said, setting the plate next to Gabion, “and requested this be sent to you in the meantime.” He bowed and closed the door behind him.

Gabion squinted at the cake. He recognized the design, it was from the high table, where the highest-ranked were invited. With his luck, it’d be some snooty thing with fruit, more ingredients than he could count, a name he’d never be able to pronounce in a million years, and hardly any taste. Of course, Celestia wouldn’t send him something he wouldn’t like, would she? He cautiously tried a bite.

Fifteen seconds later, the cake was gone. No, she wouldn’t. The concentrated sugar gave Gabion’s mind the little kick it needed for him to get back up again, and by the time Celestia was out, he was looking out over Canterlot and almost alert.

Celestia laid a wineglass on the railing next to him and poured him some wine from a newly-opened bottle. “I apologize for Viridian’s behavior,” she said. “Besides being a marquis, he comes from one of the oldest families in Equestria and thinks that elevates him above other ponies, with the exception of myself and Luna.”

“Don’t worry about it,” said Gabion. He waved a hoof dismissively. “He wasn’t nearly as biting as he thought he was.”

“He still needs to learn a lesson about respecting others, which is hard when so few others can reprimand you for a lack of respect.” Celestia took a sip of her wine and smacked her lips. “Maybe I could make you a duke for your service.”

“Oh, stars above, NO,” gasped Gabion. “I’d run my holding into the ground within-”

“I’m kidding,” giggled Celestia. “I know that would be a punishment for you. Now, if I made somepony else a duke and had you build their castle…”

“Let it wait a year,” said Gabion. “I just finished building a city.”

“Mmm. Very true.”

Gabion took a sip of his new wine. As far as fruity alcoholic beverages went, it leaned more towards “fruity” than “alcoholic”, but he was fine with that. “So, ehm, is moving foundation stones more complicated than moving the sun?”

“You’d be surprised at how low a bar that is to clear,” Celestia responded. “The sun isn’t very complicated; it’s merely very big. At the end of the day-” (Gabion snorted, but Celestia didn’t seem to notice.) “-it amounts to moving a giant ball around the sky at the proper speed. Not to say moving foundation stones is easy, but-”

“No, no, I get you,” said Gabion. “Just curious.”

“Hmm.”

They stood and looked out over Canterlot, taking occasional sips of wine. Every now and then, Celestia’s horn would glow and the sun would move a little closer to the horizon. Shadows crept across the city, and as more and more windows were illuminated, it slowly turned into a facsimile of the night sky.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” asked Celestia.

“The greatest project I’ve ever been involved in, Your Highness,” said Gabion. He liked tooting his own horn. “And if you knew me-”

“Yes,” Celestia said. “That is quite something.” Her agreement was remarkably sincere, with no trace of sardonicism or capitulation. “Why do you think you were the one chosen to oversee it?”

“Although…” Gabion looked down at his glass. “Your Highness, I never did apologize for snapping at you all those years ago.”

“Hmm?” Celestia tilted her head at him. “I can’t recall.”

“Your second day at work. I told you to lower a block, and-”

Bells tinkled as Celestia laughed. “That? It was so long ago, I’d utterly forgotten about it. It was a necessary reprimand, Gabion, you don’t need to apologize.”

“The pony who says you don’t need to apologize is the one you’ll want to apologize to the most,” said Gabion. He set his glass down. “I wasn’t treating you like a proper worker.”

“I wasn’t a proper worker yet.”

“I was treating you rudely.”

“Your rudeness was just what I needed to be knocked from the rut of princesshood.”

“I shouldn’t have done it in front of everypony.”

“Should you have told them to leave, first?”

“…I… was…”

“And even though you don’t need to apologize, you’re forgiven.” Celestia nudged him with a wing. “It was eight years ago. I hope you haven’t been stewing on it for that long.”

“No.”

But when Gabion looked at Celestia again, a strange feeling came over him from nowhere. Those eight years had refused to look Celestia in the eye, but they were quite happy to greet him. Celestia must’ve grieved dozens — hundreds? — of times in the past, and yet she welcomed, rejoiced in his inevitably temporary company. How could she do it so easily?

He took a sip of wine for courage. “Celestia?”

“Yes?”

“Why do you… value friendships with… with mortal ponies like me? We’re… I’m going to die within thirty years, perhaps less, and that’ll be it for me.” Gabion cringed at the phrasing, but it was out and there was no way to fix that. “And you… still talk with me. Still like me.”

He expected some quick platitude about… he wasn’t sure what. It wasn’t exactly easy to collect idioms specific to immortals when there were only two of them known. But some quick, snappy saying about life. Instead, Celestia simply looked out over Canterlot, her expression distant. She took a sip of wine. Gabion opened his mouth, but quickly closed it again. It wouldn’t do to interrupt her thoughts.

Finally, Celestia said, “Do you have a garden, Gabion?”

Gabion gulped down some wine. “My wife and I do. She spends more time on it, but I’m always available. Why?”

“What happens every winter?”

“Most of the flowers wither and die. Some go dormant for the season, with some prodding.”

“What happens every spring?”

“We plant new ones.”

“Even though they’ll die?”

“Yes.”

“And there you have it,” said Celestia. “Friendships are like flowers to me. I know they’ll eventually wither and and die even as I begin cultivating them, but that’s no reason to not enjoy their beauty in the meantime. Of course, ponies hold considerably more impact than flowers.” She turned to Gabion, her expression wistful. “I’m not going to pretend seeing friends grow old and depart from the world is easy. Stars above, I hope it never will be.” She put her hoof under Gabion’s chin and delicately lifted his head up so their eyes met. “But knowing you won’t always be around makes moments like these all the more precious to me because they’ll never come again. Maybe I’ll meet other ponies like you. I already know that none of them will teach me about construction.”

Gabion had never been one for poetry or metaphor. But as he gazed into Celestia’s eyes, he understood. It wasn’t something he could fully put into words, a sort of appreciation for temporary things because they were temporary. Regret and thankfulness, joy and wistfulness, all mixed into one.

Celestia released Gabion and looked over Canterlot. “We’re in fall right now. And the leaves are so beautiful.”

After a moment, Gabion put his hoof next to Celestia’s. “I’m happy to have known you, Celestia.”

Celestia wrapped her hoof around his. “And I you, Gabion.”

A few seconds’ silence. Desperate for a lighter tone, Gabion said, “I… hate to break your philosophical streak, but I’ve been offered another job on the basis of this one.”

“Oh?”

“It’s on Equestria’s east coast, where a baron wants me to build him a fort…”





The minutes ticked by, and suddenly Gabion realized the castle behind them was quiet and the moon was hanging above Canterlot. “Oh, shoot,” he muttered, “I didn’t keep you from the ball, did I?”

“You did, thankfully,” said Celestia. “I’d had quite enough of it for a while. Luna said she could handle it before I left.”

“You should thank her,” said Gabion. “I can’t ima-” He cut himself off with a huge yawn. “Listen, I need to get back to my hotel. I’ve got a long trip tomorrow.”

“If you want, I can take you home tonight.”

Gabion did a double-take. “Wha- The whole way? Now? Through- teleportation or whatever it’s called? I live halfway across Equestria!”

Celestia smiled. “Having enough power to move the sun does come with other perks.”

Gabion stared, then laughed. “Well, if you insist. My wife would be happy to have me home already. Let me get you a map so I can show you where my town is…”
> 7 - Capstone
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Gabion didn’t know why he’d hauled himself back to Canterlot. He was old. His joints creaked. The slightest bump in the road made his back ache, even if the carriage’s seats were cushioned. He suspected his eyesight was beginning to go. But all he could think was that Celestia needed his help. Somehow.

Too resolutely and too quickly for his old body, Gabion pulled himself from the carriage stop to the castle. It was early evening, and he knew he should’ve stopped by an inn first to book a room, but he couldn’t bring himself to delay. Canterlot was unusually quiet and the streets felt barren. It probably had been, ever since the… incident with Luna a week ago. How were you supposed to react to one of your diarchs snapping like that? Especially when Celestia responded by… Well. Nopony knew what, exactly, Celestia had done, but now Luna was gone and there was a silhouette of an alicorn on the moon. Gabion had trouble looking up at night; he felt like it was watching him.

He reached the castle, walked in without any resistance. If Canterlot’s quietness was unusual, the castle’s was oppressive. The few other ponies Gabion ran into stayed close together and only talked in whispers, as if being too loud would incur the wrath of some monstrous beast. The walls were draped in blue tapestries and curtains. Whether because of mourning or because they were Luna’s colors, Gabion didn’t know. The guards standing about eyed him and his focused walk suspiciously, but let him be.

There were three guards in front of the throne room, one on either side of the door and one in the middle. As Gabion approached them, the two on the side readied their spears but didn’t jump forward. He was old and nearing feeble, how much damage could he do? The guard in the middle held up a hoof. “I’m sorry,” he said in the annoyed, tired voice of somepony who’s said something a thousand times recently, “but court is closed, as the princess is under a great deal of stress at the moment. Please leave.” He waved Gabion away.

Gabion felt sorry for the guard, having to stand there, turning away pony after pony after pony, herd after herd after herd, all day long. All the wheedling he had to experience, the threats against his self and his social status, the assertions that it was for a good cause. And now Gabion was doing the exact same thing all over again. He wondered if the guard would appreciate blunt frankness any more. Probably not. “I’d like to speak with Princess Celestia,” Gabion said.

The guard’s ears folded back at nearly supersonic speeds. “Sir,” he said furiously, “the princess is in no condition to be speaking to-”

“Tell her it’s Gabion,” Gabion said in his Boss Voice. “She’ll know who I am. If she turns me down, or even if she says nothing, I’ll leave, as you ask. Just try, once.” He had to keep himself from adding “please”.

“Sir, she won’t-”

“I don’t care. Try.” Gabion dropped onto his rump. “I’m not leaving here until you do. If you do, I promise I’ll leave.”

The guard bit his lip, then said in an exasperated voice, “Don’t expect much. Even if she agrees to this, I don’t think you’ll get more than a minute.”

“A minute is all I ask.”

The guard hesitated, but bowed and entered the throne room. The doorstallions relaxed a little. Gabion sat and waited. He was used to waiting. He did that a lot nowadays. He almost walked up to the keyhole and put his ear next to it to hear if the guard was really talking to Celestia and not just hanging around the inside of the door before denying his request to get the loiterer to leave. Well, if he was, Gabion couldn’t do a thing about it except hope.

After not much time, the guard came back out, clearly confused. “The… princess will see you. Now,” he said, as if his worldview had just been shattered. The doorstallions each did their own shocked stare. One of them switched his stare to Gabion while the other waved the first guard over. They started bickering, but Gabion could only hear brief snatches of what they were saying. Stupid old-pony hearing.

“…really think… …good idea…”

“…wanted to talk to him! I…”

“…too distraught to…”

“…seemed like… …his name, and she…”

“…sure?”

“Very. I’ll take responsibility…”

Finally, the doorstallion nodded and stepped back. The first guard opened the door to the throne room and waved Gabion in.

The room was just as large as Gabion remembered it, and very, very empty. A red carpet ran from the doors to the throne; he stayed on that to avoid making any sound. The stained glass windows had all been covered. The place wasn’t clean, it was sterile, dirtiness pushed away without any thought or care. Even the air felt still.

At the far, far end of the room, Celestia was sitting on her throne, flanked by two guards, with an aide of some kind talking to her. The emptiness of the hall amplified what was being said. “…upheaval in the west,” the aide was saying. “One of the dukes is calling for a complete description of what happened on… on that night, and he has a lot of support. This report here says we’re risking secession if you’re not, in his words, ‘held accountable’.”

Celestia’s eyes were pointed at the aide, but she wasn’t seeing her. She nodded. “I see. I shall consider it.”

“And there are ponies on the borders of the Badlands who say that the change in the face of the moon is frightening the animals out there-”

Gabion reached the dias and cleared his throat. “Celestia?” he said.

Celestia twitched and her head snapped to him. The aide squeaked and quickly backed away. The guards fixed their gaze on him, yet said nothing.

Gabion took a deep breath. He knew he was expected to bow, but what he had to say was more important. He did his best to not second-guess himself. “Princess, I… know you’ve… probably heard this more times than you can imagine in the past few days, but, uh…” He swallowed and kept his head up. “I’m sorry for you about… what… happened with Luna. I know it’s… just me, but… but you know me, so I… was hoping that… maybe this would mean something more than when it came from dozens of nobles who never made a bet over what your peytral was made of. I hope you… can… move past this.” When no more words came, he didn’t force them. He remained silent and bowed.

Celestia’s face might’ve been carved from the mountain itself. When she nodded, it was jerky. “Thank you,” she said emotionlessly. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Thank you for your time, Your Highness.” Gabion bowed. He turned to the exit.

“W-wait.”

Gabion stopped mid-stride. He waited.

“Would… Would you walk with me?”

After the hard trip up, his legs protested and his knees were weak and he’d have trouble keeping up with Celestia’s strides on the best of days. But Gabion didn’t hesitate for an instant before turning back around. Celestia stepped off the dias and Gabion followed.

“Your, Your Highness!” protested the aide. “We still have-”

“I need a break,” said Celestia. She was on the edge of snapping the words, but somehow still managed to sound dignified and polite, yet firm. “Gabion and I. Alone.”

“Y-yes, Your Highness.” The aide quickly bowed.

Celestia led Gabion down a few short hallways before they came out on a balcony. The same balcony, Gabion noticed, where’d talked after the completion of Canterlot all those years ago. Celestia sat down and stared blankly out at the lights of Canterlot. Gabion sat down next to her. “Celestia?” he asked.

“It was my fault,” Celestia said bluntly. “I-it’s my fault Luna’s gone.”

Gabion wanted to protest, wanted to tell her that it couldn’t have been, but he heard the conviction in her words. It was Celestia’s fault, or at least she believed it was her fault, and he couldn’t convince her otherwise. He swallowed. “What… happened?” he asked quietly. There was no way to ease into it.

Celestia took a deep, shuddering breath. If she objected to telling the truth, she made no sign of it. “You’ve- heard- the official story, I presume?” she asked tightly. “Luna, frustrated at the lack of appreciation for her night, went mad and started calling herself Nightmare Moon, determined to make her night last forever. I was forced to battle with her and banish her into the moon with ancient magics.”

“That sounds about right.” Gabion left out that a lot of the ponies he’d heard had disbelieved some or all of that story, for one reason or another.

“That- That is completely true, I swear. There’s nothing more to it. Luna was given no praise for the duties she performed as diligently as I did, and when it became too much to bear, she lashed out.”

The memories of Gabion’s own meeting with Luna came to him in a flash. She’d seemed so cold, so distant, yet she’d been so interested in him and his relation to Celestia. Now that he thought about it, it was obvious that she was upset somehow. And how had he mentioned this to Celestia? Luna needs to work on her people skills. What a friend he was.

“But I suppose you’re wondering how- how this is my fault,” continued Celestia. Her wings were flexing, like she wanted to fly away and never return. “Listen to the stories of our rule in just the past few years. ‘Celestia was great, Celestia was lovely, Celestia was wonderful. And Luna was also there.’ I said nothing about them. The imbalance never occurred to me. I let it happen while she remained silent, and this went on and on and on. If I’d only said one thing…” She stopped for a second to wipe her eyes.

“Then-” She took a breath like a wheezing bellows and said, “We decided to build Canterlot. I asked her to abandon her post. So I could go and build a pretty castle. And she did, and… Equestria went on fine without her. For six months, she stopped handling her nightly duties and nothing changed. Anypony willing to read between the lines would read ‘you’re worthless’ from that. And to think making the walls white was a sufficient tribute to her!” She angrily brought a hoof down on the balcony railing, pulverising a section of it to dust. “If I hadn’t decided on- this idiotic, grandiose design-” she spat.

“Celestia,” Gabion said, putting his hoof on hers, “you couldn’t have known, you were only trying to connect with-”

“I should’ve been connecting with my sister,” Celestia said, pulling her hoof away. She sounded angry with herself. “I should’ve known she was upset with me, that she was bitter, that-” Her voice caught and she didn’t continue.

Gabion seized the opening. “When I talked with Luna, she was…” Gabion paused, but he couldn’t find the right words. He switched paths. “Looking back, I think there were times when she almost opened up to me and didn’t. If… she’d only said one thing…” He stared at the moon. At Luna. “I was… still less grateful for her than I ought to have been, but… that night, I couldn’t help thinking of her as a princess. And I’m not used to talking to princesses.”

Celestia looked at him sideways. “Like now?”

“This isn’t princess and subject. This is friend and friend.”

But some part of him wondered: if he hadn’t been so stupid as to miss the signs, if he’d been just as blunt with her as he’d been with Celestia, would that have stopped anything? If he’d just said that she could’ve talked to him, would she have? And if she and him had talked, would she have been turned from her path, or would he have just been delaying the inevitable implosion until his death, when she’d be alone again? If, would, if, would, if, would…

“So I… I’m sorry I… didn’t say anything,” Gabion said.

Celestia snorted. “Don’t apologize,” she mumbled. “You couldn’t have known.”

“Still.”

Silence.

Gabion swallowed. “Do you… know how long she’d felt that way? The past few years?”

“No,” said Celestia, rubbing her face. “I doubt that this jealousy came recently. This must have been festering for d-decades. Ever since we became Equestria’s princesses, she was always second fiddle to me, the one to be forgotten and ignored, the one who shepherded the night because nopony else wanted to. She was neglected longer than most ponies have been alive.”

“…Oh.” Gabion swallowed again. Celestia, for the most part, skirted around the issue of her immortality, so any blunt reminders of it always came as an abrupt slap in the face. Put like that, it was a wonder Luna had kept it together as long as she had. How long had she dealt with those feelings even before Equestria? How was Celestia keeping it together, now that she was forced to see the last century through a filter of her own guilt?

Gabion looked up at Celestia to say something, and then he noticed: Celestia had crow’s feet. Maybe age didn’t touch her, but use did.

He got it. The full weight of Celestia’s feelings hit him like one of Canterlot Castle’s own foundation stones. Where he’d once seen the smooth lines of polished marble, he now saw worn-down sheets of old, well-used sandpaper. Where he’d once seen a valiant soldier gallantly trotting off to war, he now saw the same soldier returning home a year later, physically unhurt yet having seen far too much. Where he’d once seen an older sibling cheerfully managing their younger brothers and sisters, he now saw that same pony forcibly promoted to caretaker after the death of their parents and putting on a brave face for the little ones even as they burned out. Keeping your wings spread all the time certainly looked majestic, but it must ache.

Suddenly, Celestia’s willingness to spend months monotonously stacking foundation blocks together for some real pony-to-pony interaction made a lot more sense.

Celestia was still talking. “A-and now I have… sycophant after sycophant telling me I did the right thing in subduing her.” She laughed bitterly. “I ignored my sister for decades, had to banish her from this world, perhaps forever, and I did the r-right thing?” She hung her head in her hooves. “I-it’s all my fault, I should’ve… I should’ve known what I was-”

“Celestia…” said Gabion.

“-doing to her, i-ignoring her for so long-”

“Celestia!” Gabion clouted Celestia on the shoulder as best he could. She didn’t budge, but she looked down at him with watery eyes.

Gabion took a deep breath. “Maybe it’s your fault for taking her for granted. Maybe it’s her fault for not speaking up. Maybe it’s my fault for not treating her the same way I treated you. Maybe it’s everypony else’s fault for never thinking of her. Maybe it’s all those. Personally, I think it’s a confusing mess where deciding on who to blame is missing the point.”

He leaned up against her, pushing himself against her shoulder. When he was a foal and his mother had tried to cheer him up, she’d always put pressure on him like that. How it reassured him, he didn’t know, but it worked. “I’m not going to pretend that I know what you should do next. But we all make mistakes. It’s no use blaming yourself over it. Maybe you didn’t do the right thing, but you did everything you could.”

“It wasn’t enough.”

Gabion slapped Celestia across the face. She didn’t flinch, and the look on her face when she turned to him was one of confusion, not hurt. “No, it wasn’t,” he said firmly. “You still did everything you could. Look, Celestia, you’re not perfect. You’re allowed to make mistakes. Accept that. I- I’m sorry if I’m coming across as cold, but I think you’re buying into that pedestal everypony’s put you on. You’re an alicorn, but you’re just as much a pony as I am, just as capable of failing. Remember how all those years ago, you had trouble putting blocks together correctly?”

Celestia looked at Gabion. Gabion looked at Celestia. He breathed freely. He could already see it: she’d dug a hole for herself by having to banish Luna, was digging it deeper with her own guilt, and everypony else was saying that it was okay. Somepony had to point out she needed to climb out of that hole. And if that required throwing rocks at her head to get her to pay attention, so be it.

Celestia finally, finally made an expression that somewhat resembled a smile. “It’s easy to forget that when everypony says otherwise. Thank you.” She took a deep, shuddering breath. “It doesn’t make it any easier.”

“It shouldn’t,” Gabion said, his voice softening. “But just because it isn’t easy doesn’t mean you should make it harder.”

“Indeed. And now…” Celestia looked at the moon and sighed. “We never discussed what each other’s celestial bodies felt like,” she said. “Compared to the sun, the moon is so… delicate. Ethereal. Or perhaps my magic is opposed to it. I always feel like I’m about to break it.”

“Is that why… the moon’s path has been so…?”

“Yes. I am… still working out the kinks in moving it.” Celestia took a deep breath and flexed, from the tip of her nose all the way down to her tail and wings. Her horn started glowing, and the magic that cascaded over Gabion felt different than any he had felt before. In some places it felt prickly and in others unusually still, as if Celestia was trying to stick a square peg in a round hole and breaking the corners off.

Celestia took deep, measured breaths, closed her eyes, and pushed. As it had for the past week, the moon twitched across the sky in a strange, stilted manner, as if Celestia was being far too careful with it. Gabion didn’t know what, exactly, was wrong with the moon’s motion; he just knew something was wrong.

But he also knew how to fix it.

“You’re holding it, Celestia,” he said. “Just let it rest in your magic.”

Celestia froze, then laughed bitterly. “Of course that would be the problem.” She stuck out her tongue in concentration. The wave of magic washing over Gabion’s skin changed, becoming far less prickly. The moon twitched again and moved slowly across the sky. It was smoother than before.

But it still wasn’t Luna’s moon.

Releasing her magic, panting deeply, Celestia whispered, “I can’t even move the moon correctly. It’s… Why didn’t I… She… W-why didn’t I know?”

The dam finally burst. Celestia’s legs gave out and she collapsed onto the ground, weeping. Her crown slipped off her head and bounced into a corner. Tears streamed down her face, staining her coat, her peytral. She staggered to her feet and slouched against the railing. She buried her face in her hooves, gasping with each failed attempt to control herself.

Gabion sat down next to her and threw a leg over her withers. It didn’t reach all the way around and he had his shoulder raised uncomfortably. It was the best he could do. “I’m sorry,” he said.

Celestia flared out a wing, pulled him close, and sobbed.





It might’ve been a minute, it might’ve been an hour, but eventually, long after her cries had subsided, Celestia said, “Gabion?”

“Hmm?” he asked.

“Thank you for- for letting me… be me. Thank you for letting me blubber. Thank you for being a friend.”

Not caring the slightest in who he was doing it to, Gabion reached up and patted Celestia’s face reassuringly. “Anytime. And I mean that. I’m retired and spend my days being lazy. If you want to come over to my house to talk, my doors are open.”

Celestia put a leg over his shoulders and hugged him. “I doubt I’ll have the time, but your offer means a lot. Thank you.” She retrieved her crown, looked it over for a second, then set it on the railing.

Gabion looked up at the moon. Could Luna see them? Was she aware of anything? Was this making it better? Worse? Did it matter? “You’re welcome,” he said. He stood up, flexing his legs one at a time. “I hate to leave you, but I need a place to stay the night before-”

“No, wait.” Celestia flared a wing between him and the door. “Would you like me to take you home?”

Funny how, what felt like not that long ago, this question had nearly shocked the living daylights out of him, and now Gabion’s only response was a flood of silent relief and, “Yes, please. I can never sleep well in inns these days.”

They were squeezed through a tube for an instant, and then they were in front of a log cabin in a sparse forest, a light flickering in one of the windows. Through the trees were more lights from the town. This was a quiet place, and now, in his old age, Gabion wouldn’t have it any other way. He examined the battered but solid door he’d built himself, once again imagined Celestia — regal, dignified Celestia — sitting in the dirt in front of it as she waited for him, and once again chuckled when the image seemed to fit.

“Thank you.” Gabion walked up to the door and knocked. “Honey? I’m back!”

“Already? I told you not to take the fast carriages, you’ll shake yourself to death!”

“Don’t worry, I didn’t. It’s a long story. Hold on.” Gabion turned back to Celestia. “Do you want to stay? Just for a few minutes. You know how much Altostratus loves you, and we just got a few gallons of the most delicious cider, so-”

“I’d like to,” said Celestia wistfully, “but I really must be getting back to Canterlot. They might get worried if they can’t find me.”

“Well, it wouldn’t be the first time this week a diarch vanished.” And then Gabion realized what he’d said. “Oh, stars, I am so sorry,” he said, mortified, “I didn’t mean-”

Celestia’s chuckle was somewhere between genuine and anxiety. “I understand,” she said. “I… I needed some levity in my life.” She giggled guiltily.

“Sorry,” Gabion mumbled, staring at the ground.

“But I really would like to drop by again, sooner or later,” said Celestia seriously. “Once I get my hooves under me.”

“If you ever get the time, feel free to stop by.” Gabion opened the front door. “I’ll be here for you as long as you need me.”

Celestia smiled faintly. “I know. Thank you.” She turned on the spot and vanished.