An Unexpected Respite
Thud.
Celestia’s muzzle impacted the desk in front of her.
It wasn’t the first time- not that day, or possibly even that hour. She pointedly refused to check the clock.
She considered, also not for the first time, that at this point she should order the Equestrian anthem rewritten with additional percussion. It would only be fitting.
Things were simpler, she had decided, from this position. The breeze from her cranial descent had cleared a neat patch of comforting wood out of the forest of paperwork, and, if she focused her vision downward, the rest of the room was barely visible. She certainly couldn’t see the propaganda posters on the walls (SMILE, SMILE, SMILE), or even smell the nearly omnipresent odor of industry that now permeated nearly every crevice and keyhole of Canterlot.
Yes; it was a beautiful posture indeed.
But, like all things of the greatest beauty- like friendship, like peace- she was increasingly certain it was unsustainable.
Of course, she didn’t truly need to observe the clock; time was another thing the war had changed. Her job had been difficult before, but behind that difficulty had existed an elusive but attainable goal of Done, and the knowledge that, eventually, she could rest.
Now, there was no Done. There was Behind Schedule, certainly, and Running Late, and Nearly Out Of Time, and Unfinished Paperwork That Necessitated An Even Earlier Rise The Next Day, but Done had fled from her life without even the decency to leave a specter of dust in its place.
Her sacred schedule with her dear sister, too, had been greedily consumed. The breakfasts she so cherished were swept aside and their tables readied for paperwork, and though both she and Luna had abandoned their tradition of passing off the day and night to each other in favor of ever-longer hours burning ever-shorter candles, the time they actually spent together had dwindled to near nonexistence. Really, compared with such a life as hers was becoming, there was a beauty in the all-consuming nature of the desk pressed into her nose.
Suddenly- suddenly enough to wake her from the stupor she’d been dangerously near to, but somehow not enough that she was startled- there was a noise. It was not, Celestia decided (as she arose, scattering the disgruntled papers further afield), a pleasant noise. In fact, it sounded like Luna attempting to speak without moving her lips after a particularly unpleasant night of work. It was a groaning, wheezing, mechanical noise, and if she hadn’t also seen movement in the neighboring room out of the corner of her eye, she’d have assumed the disregarded clock had arisen to take its revenge.
But no, the clock (it was 3:58, she unwillingly learned) hung still in its place, and the noise had stopped, having concluded with a rush of air.
The papers, already being on the floor, gave a halfhearted flutter.
A creak, a muffled exclamation, and a series of hoofsteps followed, and before she even had time to adopt a dignified expression, she shared the office with a brown earth pony with a modern sort of mane, an hourglass cutie mark, and a bow tie.
“I’m terribly sorry to interrupt, your highness,” the Doctor said. “But I do believe I’m here to help you.”
Celestia knew of Doctor Hooves (or “The Doctor,” as he styled himself), of course. How could she not? She doubted there was a magical scholar in Equestria- or possibly quite a bit farther than Equestria- who didn’t.
It was Star Swirl who first introduced them. Upon revealing to her his experiments with interdimensional travel, the elderly unicorn had announced that they would be meeting with a special guest. It wasn’t frequent that Star Swirl acknowledged he had peers at all, let alone those worthy of the term “special,” so she’d been surprised to learn that their visitor was an earth pony with roughly the ambient magical energy of the average toadstool (or, this being Equestria, a significantly below-average toadstool).
Upon his sudden arrival, which she was told was characteristic, the Doctor had expressed delight that they’d happened upon travel between dimensions through magic, which, owing to circumstances of birth, eluded him. She’d been skeptical at the time that some of the gadgets he carried could be anything but magic, but her travels with Star Swirl over the following decades opened her eyes to what was possible with natural forces like electricity. The Doctor had warned them, though, that alternate realities were not tourist destinations, and that there was only so much they could do before consequences arose. Star Swirl, impervious as he had been- and still could be- to any voice that stood between him and his research, had assured the Doctor that his own experiments proved the spells involved to be quite safe. After a heated argument, which Celestia had scarcely been able to follow a word of, the Doctor had given up, and, with a sad, knowing smile, stepped back into his mysterious vehicle.
It was only far later that she understood what he had to look sad about. She still wasn’t sure if he’d known how things would turn out. She wasn’t sure she wanted to know.
Either way, she’d been surprised, upon arriving in Ponyville on the eve of Luna’s return those eventful few years ago, to learn that he’d taken up long-term residence. It seemed decidedly out of character with what little she’d heard of him over the years. Still, he seemed content to fade into the background, and if Ponyville seemed to be the subject of rather more historical events than normal in the ensuing years, well, there was a whole list of ponies who could be at fault for that.
She hadn’t thought about him in years, so it was entirely understandable, in her mind, that it took her a moment to respond.
“...Help?” she asked intelligently.
He didn’t seem put off by the lackluster reception, fortunately. “Indeed! I don’t mean to offend, but I don’t think you can say that you don’t need it.” His gaze wandered the room, every square inch of its walls covered in posters, bulletin boards, notices, messily-scribbled notes from Luna that remained on the wall either due to Celestia’s having yet to get to them or having yet to decipher her sister’s hornwriting, and not a speck of blank space to be found.
She managed to find her voice.
“You’re right, I’m afraid.” She carefully stood up. To remain seated while a guest stood would imply that they were not her equal, and Celestia did her best to consider everypony her equal. “But I’m not sure what you can do. Unless you’ve somehow discovered a way to allow me to fill out forms faster?” She smiled, hoping some of the warmth on her face would find its way inside her.
“Actually, I have! And so many things besides.” He beamed. “You wouldn’t believe how much is possible when you pry under the surface layers of the world; from a scientific perspective, I mean. It seems like it was only yesterday I met with you- well, I suppose it was, if you ignore how time seems to move and look at it from the perspective of-” He cut himself off with a cough, looking embarrassed. “Oh, but that’s not why I’m here.”
Celestia blinked. She had spent the majority of the past few sentences trying to work out the likelihood that the Doctor was simply a stress-induced hallucination, or, equally likely, a new changeling psychological warfare tactic.
Even with as high as that likelihood was, though, she’d always believed in disarming traps by springing them.
“You must forgive my manners, Doctor Hooves. Would you care for some tea?” She said, then, as an afterthought, added, “It’s good to see you.” She was surprised to find that she meant it. The war had sapped her patience like nothing before in her long, long life, and, as shameful as it was, she had snapped at at least one unexpected visitor in recent months.
The Doctor smiled. “It’s good to see you too, princess. But I regret that I shall have to decline the tea for now- we can get caught up on the way!”
“The way?” She frowned, thinking of her schedule- even more nightmarish today than most, with every form and military briefing she could squeeze in before dinner. “I’m sorry, but I just don’t have time to go anywhere. As you can see, this… regrettable conflict has taken its toll on my leisure time.” Or at least what little of it had existed before.
The Doctor waved a forehoof dismissively. “Oh, you mustn't think I would take time from your work! Believe me, I understand the importance of what you’re doing. But trust me- we’ll be back before you know it. Literally, if you’d like! But I suppose figuratively is probably better.”
Celestia paused to levitate all of the maligned papers into neat, orderly stacks in their proper places on her desk. “Even so, Doctor. It’s my responsibility to keep my focus where it belongs. My little ponies on the front lines don’t have the luxury of being able to take time off, and I owe it to them to do everything I can to get them back to their homes safely. I simply cannot afford to distract myself.” It was a good speech, and one which had warded off many pesky members of the nobility who didn’t seem to understand the nature of “war” - she regretted having to use it on a pony who had been nothing but a gentlecolt (if an odd one), but she meant every word.
She stifled a yawn, hoping he wouldn’t notice.
He noticed. “Princess, I may look young, but I have more experience than you know, and I’d wager a fresh palace maid could recognize how tired you are. But I also have the experience to know how much you detest deception, so I’ll just inquire this:
“Would you like a break?”
…
She would. She wasn’t sure she’d wanted anything so much since Luna’s return, besides an end to the war. She really, truly, desperately wanted even a single minute of anything else, anything at all.
Upon this realization, her brain immediately bustled into action, beginning the now-habitual process of explaining to her traitorous mind exactly why she couldn’t be allowed to act upon those desires. She began it, even opening her mouth to explain this to the Doctor, but then she stopped.
She thought about Luna.
She thought about Twilight Sparkle, and her friends.
She thought about how much time she’d spent convincing each of them that it was okay, even necessary, to ask for help.
She thought about trying desperately to help Luna immediately after her return, being denied that opportunity by her stupid, wonderful, ascetic sister, and how it was the worst and most helpless she’d felt in all her life.
Then she sighed, allowed herself an indulgent yawn, and, without directly answering the Doctor’s question, began walking towards the door.
“You’re really sure it won’t take any time?”
“I am indeed.”
Celestia gaped. “It’s…”
“Yes, yes, just say it. Everypony else does,” the Doctor grumbled.
“It’s so much smaller on the inside.”
He sighed. “I know, I know. I wanted it to be more spacious, and I foolishly built the exterior first, but the machinery just takes up so much space, and, well, it’s good enough for me.” He slipped by, squeezing between her and the odd console in the center of the vehicle. “I don’t have a lot of guests. In fact, I don’t travel much at all these days.”
The interior of the machine- the Doctor had rattled off its name, and Celestia had promptly forgotten it amidst the novelty of the experience- was a cramped, wood-paneled room, perhaps six feet on each side, with a small console in the center with so many buttons and levers that Celestia couldn’t imagine how anypony without magic could possibly operate them all. The walls and ceiling were covered with wires, dials, switches (many entirely out of reach for a pony of normal stature), cathode-ray and electron tubes, cogs of indeterminate function, and at least one… was that a flute?
She had difficulty understanding the simplified vehicle and weaponry designs her guard explained to her; this machine was simply beyond her. She suspected it would be beyond anypony. And he’d had it well over a thousand years ago?
A thought occurred to her. “Doctor, are you immortal?”
The earth pony turned to her with an unreadable expression. “Rather a heavy question, isn’t it?”
Faust damn her. Star Swirl would be ashamed of her manners, and, given his behavior even at his advanced age, that was saying something. “I’m so sorry, I don’t know what I was-”
“No, no, it’s I who’s sorry,” he continued. “You simply caught me off guard, as it were.” He began adjusting several of the dials on the wall, leaning up on two hooves.
He did this for a long moment before continuing. “To answer your question, no, I’m not immortal. At least, not in the way you and your fellow alicorns are. I age, and I will die, someday. But I’m also not exactly what you would call young. It’s… complicated.” He noticed her slightly confused expression and chuckled. “Let’s just say I’ve been around a while, in some form or another. But I haven’t been on this planet nearly as long as you.”
Well, she supposed that was as reasonable an answer as she could expect. She certainly was guilty of giving far more cryptic ones to ponies she knew far better, even if it was usually for the best.
The silence had grown somewhat awkward. “So… you said you no longer traveled?” She smiled abashedly. “Besides the weekly speeches, I haven’t had much opportunity for extended conversation lately. It seems my abilities have atrophied.” She gave an un-princessly giggle. “Consider yourself lucky you happened upon myself, rather than Luna.”
The Doctor’s face darkened. “Yes, I would imagine they have. It’s quite alright- there are many ponies to be blamed for the horrors of war” -he spat out the word, as if it was a particularly unpleasant insect he’d found wriggling in his salad- “but you are hardly one of them. Well, no more than the average pony. Well, the average ruler. Well, the average… eternal monarch."
That wasn’t terribly reassuring. He seemed to realize this. “I’m sorry, I imagine that wasn’t terribly reassuring. The point is, it isn’t your fault. Besides, you asked me a question!” His face brightened considerably. “I wouldn’t say I don’t travel, just far less. I’ve settled down, you see! Gotten my hoof stuck in the door, as it were. Or stuck in a pony. Hmm, no, that doesn’t work, does it. But it’s been ever so good for me. Being alone, well, it puts one out of touch with other ponies, doesn’t it? You forget what things are like in the real world, if you know what I mean, and that’s no good for you nor anypony else. Besides, Ponyville is just wonderful- oh, but you’d know all about that!”
As the Doctor talked, he seemed to be actively working to answer Celestia’s curiosity as to how an earth pony could operate all the controls in the room, and the faster he moved, the faster he talked. She wasn’t sure if her eyes were glazing over, or if he was simply dashing around the room with such vigor that he was beginning to blur. Faust above, he was still talking.
“- and naturally I wanted to drop in the second I decided to stay, but I knew Princess Luna would be returning in short order, relatively speaking that is, and it just never seemed like the right time, and while Ponyville is nice it’s not especially conducive to a regular schedule, as I’m sure you’re aware, and between the monster attacks and my obligations to my friends and Ms. Hooves, well, it’s positively shameful that it took a war to get me to drop by.” He flipped a final switch, and she heard, muffled by the thick walls, the same mechanical noise from a few moments ago. The Doctor paused, slightly out of breath, and turned to her with an eagerly raised eyebrow. “You had a question, I think?”
Had she? Scrolling her mind for whatever haphazardly-generated thought had ended up in the most recent slot in her mental queue, she asked, “Oh, are you married?”
He looked shocked. “Heavens, no! Where did you- Oh, of course, the name.” He chuckled. “No, that’s simply a coincidence, I’m afraid.” His face slid rapidly from amusement to surprise to embarrassment back to amusement, and continued swirling like an unbalanced unicycle as he amended, “Well, not afraid, just- I would never- well, not never, but-” He cleared his throat, having evidently decided to cut his losses.
It hadn’t been her intent to mortify him into silence, but, given the opportunity, she’d make use of what she had. “Don’t worry, Doctor, your romantic life is as little of my business as mine is yours. However, as much as I respect your work, you’ve chosen to settle down in Equestria, and that does make you my subject, so it is with authority that I insist on knowing precisely where you are taking me.” She smiled teasingly. She so detested being forced to pull the “Princess Card,” as Luna put it by way of affectionately mocking Celestia’s distaste for her own authority, and it was always a welcome change to be able to do so largely in jest. “My guards will have enough of a fit when they learn I allowed you to whisk me away; perhaps you can at least assure me that I’m not being taken directly to Chrysalis’s front door?”
At the reminder that they were crammed into this wonderfully nonsensical vehicle at his own bequest, the Doctor grinned, eyes sparkling. She was reminded of Twilight’s impossibly sweet face as a foal upon completing a project and dragging Celestia over to show off her work. “An entirely fair request; I suppose I’ve kept you in suspense quite long enough. Princess, I have something to show you. Something I’ve wished to show you for a long time, to be honest, ever since that debacle with your mirror.” He shook his head. “I would be the last pony to imply that happiness or peace or rest or what have you are things that need to be earned, but, if they were, you’d have done so many times over.”
Celestia smiled in spite of herself, trotting over to the Doctor’s side of the console. “You really do sound like Twilight. Flattery may get you somewhere, but not further from answering my questions. What is it you’re so eager for me to see?”
At that moment, a motion that Celestia hadn’t even been aware of suddenly ceased. It was as if a ship she’d ridden on for days had suddenly dropped its anchor, and been set to bob calmly on the ocean’s surface.
Doctor Hooves, nearly bouncing with excitement, quickly flipped a single lever. “We’ve arrived.”
She moved so she was again directly in front of him. “Arrived where?”
With the dramatic flourish of a showmare, he gestured to the dark wooden doors. “See for yourself, your highness.”
She glanced towards the doors. Then towards the Doctor, and his face full of anticipation. Then back to the doors. Taking a breath, and bracing herself for… she wasn’t even sure what, she stepped forward and gently pushed on the doors, which swung eagerly open with a welcoming creak.
…
It was the sun.
Celestia felt it before she saw it. She could feel the sun at any time of day; it was how she knew when to raise and lower it, how she could move something that by all rights she shouldn’t be able to, and even how she communicated with it, to some degree. As soon as she opened the doors, that feeling grew from a comforting, distant sensation in the back of her mind, to an all-encompassing warmth that exploded in her chest and raced through her veins to every inch of her skin and every feather in her wings. It was as if she’d consumed a bottle of the world’s best cider, but with only the pleasant effects of the alcohol. It was the feeling of a scalding bath extended into infinity, but instead of burning her, it imparted more beautiful heat than she would’ve thought she was capable of withstanding.
The sensation, though, paled in comparison to the sight.
At first, she didn’t connect what she was seeing to the sudden loving embrace of her soul. She could look at it easily; she’d always been able to look comfortably at the star, even as a foal. But for the whole of her life, it had been a distant thing: a small- bright, beautiful, and beloved, but small nonetheless- dot in the vast expanse of the heavens.
No longer, she realized, as her mind finally caught up with her eyes. In front of her, filling up what couldn’t have been more than a third of her field of view but which felt so all-encompassing that she could scarcely believe there was anything else to see, was an immense, fiery sphere that she now knew instinctively to be the sun- her sun. How could she have not known instantly? The warmth in her chest reached out to and from it like a fisherman’s line. Lying in a sparkling void, it was an enormous collage of colors; all warm, yes, but comprised of burning reds, the amber of sunrise and the orange of sunset, the yellow of the sunshine on a cold winter’s day, the tangerine of a happily flickering candle, the gold of a beloved’s ring, the rainbow shimmer of magic and everything in between. Some areas were brighter and some were dimmer, but in truth they were merely bright in a different way, as if the star wished to show her the range of light her eyes could comprehend. And the patterns, too, were as varied as the colors themselves, and they swirled and danced across the surface of the sun like ponies in revelry, first this way, then that, then back around again, chasing themselves infinitely. The surface wasn’t flat, but instead leapt perpetually upwards like a flame, if a flame could somehow rise in every direction at once. As she watched, an enormous arc of orange and yellow shot upwards from the star, as if it were a pool of molten metal into which an ice cube had fallen. It seemed to take an hour to rise, and a dozen more to fall.
She wasn’t sure, once thoughts could once again traverse her consciousness without being burned away by the beauty before her, how she was still standing. In fact, she didn’t entirely know if she was still standing. Her wings were spread, and it seemed as if the light was bolstering her, enveloping her like a bath and rendering her weightless. She might’ve been gaping. She might’ve been drooling. She might’ve had her eyes closed. She didn’t know, and she didn’t care. All that mattered was the overwhelming sensation that everything she had ever loved was reaching out to her and embracing her, without judgment, without condition, and without end.
After a long, long while, she turned away from the sun (she couldn’t explain how, but she knew it wouldn’t mind), back to the Doctor, and gasped softly. The light suffused the wooden interior of the machine, making it gleam like the finest gold in the Canterlot treasury. The Doctor stood with his same smile in the same position he had been, though now he was squinting slightly.
She thought, for a moment, about what to say. Fortunately, she quickly thought better of it, and opted instead to throw her forelegs around the Doctor, not caring that she was far too large to reasonably rest her weight on another pony. From his muffled sound of surprise, it must have been quite the effort to remain standing, but he didn’t protest.
After she was sure she could speak without her voice wobbling, she released the poor earth pony.
“Thank you. I… thank you.”
He was smiling wide enough that it looked mildly uncomfortable; she suspected she was doing the same. “You are most welcome, Princess.”
She shook her head. “Please, call me Celestia. We may not talk much, but there’s no reason to maintain formality when you’ve seen me in such a state.” She felt a tear run down her face, and amended her statement. “Continue to see me.”
“Celestia it is, then. I must confess I didn’t initially… Celestia?”
She had turned back to gaze at the sun. “Oh, I’m listening. Forgive me, I couldn’t help myself.”
“Quite understandable. I didn’t initially plan to visit you today, I admit. I was doing… poorly, shall we say, in light of current events, and I often come up here, because- well, you know why, now. But I realized that I was being selfish, and that there was somepony who needed it far more than I ever have. I hope you can forgive me for taking so long to realize that.”
She shook her head, not unkindly. “Doctor, if I couldn’t forgive other ponies for their regrets, I would be the biggest hypocrite in the world, never mind Equestria. You thought of me today, and I’m more grateful than I can ever say.”
“Oh, I don’t think you’re as bad as all that,” he replied, moving next to her and sitting down. She followed suit; she didn’t want to have to move any time soon. “I’ve lived in many places, Celestia. Near ones, far ones, ones you would have difficulty imagining- no offense. And there’s a reason Equestria is where I finally chose to stay.” He seemed to struggle for words. “In all my years, there was nowhere else that… truly believed in friendship, believed in peace, the same way I did. And I don’t blame any of the creatures elsewhere for that. Life can be ever so hard, and it costs me a great deal, sometimes, to remain anything close to optimistic. But once I arrived here, in Equestria… I could feel it, knew I had found something special.
“But this war…” He sighed, and paused his ramblings for a long moment. When Celestia managed to tear her eyes from the swirling beauty, he looked like the oldest pony she’d ever seen. “It makes it hard to hold on to that hope. This was the best one, the most wonderful world I’ve ever found. If we can’t make things work here, what hope is there for anypony else? What’s the point?”
He snorted and shook his head. “I’m so sorry, I really am. I brought you here to try and give you a moment of respite, and here I am giving you more problems, when I know full well you have enough for a hundred ponies. What must you think of me?
“It seems I’ve really learned nothing.”
He was silent, then, turning to gaze into the void and the stars, which seemed to relax him at least somewhat, to her relief. She knew the pain in those eyes: a deep, aching sort of pain unlike any dealt by blade or bullet, that could be ignored with some effort, but which was infinitely harder to dig out or bandage up than any physical malady. She chose her next words very carefully.
“When ponies learn of my immortality, they have one of two reactions. The young ones, those bright and full of life, with many prospects and even more friends, think it wonderful. They’re rarely envious; I try to teach my little ponies better than that. But they see me, they imagine everything I’ve gotten to do or will live to see, and they marvel at it.
“The sadder ones… they feel pity. I’m not a changeling, but I’ve lived a long life, and when I meet a pony who’s lost a friend, or made a terrible mistake, or had to move, or who’s simply very, very old, I can feel their pain as they look at me. They wonder what it must be like, to have so many regrets built up, and to never be free of them. They imagine living forever with even their mortal life’s worth of tragedy, and they shudder inside, glad that they’ll one day get to leave me behind.” Starlight Glimmer, she recalled, had been one such example.
“But they’re both wrong.” She’d never told anyone this, not in detail. Luna, the one pony she could confide in about such things, certainly already knew, and had no need to hear it from her. “Life, no matter how short or how long, can never be one thing. It contains infinities, no matter its length. Learning this is unavoidable, after enough time. And eventually, I learned that it isn’t just life- everything contains infinities of its own, and nothing is as simple as it appears. Ponies are the same way, and changelings too, and dragons, griffons, the oldest trees, and the smallest insects.
“It took me a long time to realize it, but this is what makes the world beautiful.” She turned to the Doctor, who was watching her, his expression unreadable but for unparalleled focus. “I’m so, so happy that you find Equestria so perfect. It makes me feel that all the work I do really is worth something. But I’ve lived here nearly all my life, and it isn’t perfect. Things get worse, and they get better, and they get worse again, and none of the happiness we create would be worth as much if we didn’t have the experience to know how rare and wonderful it truly is.
“There are evil things in the world, Doctor. Not evil ponies, no, but there is evil all the same. But there is also good, and light, and hope, and friendship. And this is what lets me continue to work day after day, no matter how terrible the news that ends up on my desk is, and no matter how tired I become. Because I can never know that things will be perfect forever, because they never will be. I know that, because I’ve seen it. But I always know that things will get better.” She gazed upon the star before her; constantly changing, but enduring. “There will always be light again.”
She wasn’t sure she’d managed to communicate exactly how she felt; she’d never had to do so before. She’d scarcely even considered it herself for hundreds of years. But now that she said it aloud… perhaps it was time she expressed such feelings to Luna, or at least to Twilight Sparkle. It was the least Celestia could do for her.
As her sister came to mind, Celestia had the distinct feeling that there was something she should do, but Doctor Hooves spoke at last before she could place her hoof on it.
“I know you think your reputation for wisdom is unearned, Celestia, and I doubt I can convince you otherwise,” he said. “But…” It might have been her imagination, but she thought his voice was ever so slightly unsteady. “...I want you to know that you’ve taught me something today. And that doesn’t happen very often, not anymore.”
“Well then, Doctor, this has been a learning experience for both of us,” she replied, then smiled slyly. “Perhaps I simply knew what you needed to hear, and ensured we would both end up in the position to teach each other.” She had, of course, done nothing of the sort, but, then, fate could be funny that way.
“Perhaps indeed. Princess, I would not put it past you.” The Doctor stood up, slowly. “Would you like to go? Or stay a bit longer?”
She considered, her head on her front hooves. She should go. There was work to be done, and her sun was still beautiful from the ground. This had been more of a break already than she could have ever hoped for.
Then again… how often would an opportunity like this arise?
“We’ll be able to return at the same time we left?”
“More or less.”
“May I ask how?”
He chuckled. “You’re certainly welcome to ask.”
She knew a non-answer when she heard one, having given out far more of them in her time than any pony alive. “If it’s all the same to you, I’d like to have a bit longer.”
“I suspected you might.” She heard him walk carefully back to the other side of the small room inside the machine. “Would you like some tea? Iced, I’m afraid, and not up to your standards, but I keep some just in case. You never know how long these things will take.”
Right now, she would gladly stoop to drinking coffee if it only meant she could stay just a minute longer. “That would be wonderful.”
The Doctor’s… time machine? Were such things truly possible in this world? Landed right where it had left. As Celestia opened the door, she initially frowned at the return of the mingled scent of smoke, oil, and ink, and the rush of tired and well-worn emotions that came with it, but her face melted into shocked awe as she beheld the clock: 4:00 PM.
“And you’re quite sure I can’t study this device of yours?”
The earth pony looked up from the controls, grinning and straightening his bow tie. “Unfortunately, that’s not for me to decide. And no, I can’t take a message to someone who can.”
She discreetly prodded the box with her magic. It was… a box. A box full of metal, but a box nonetheless. “And what if I were to order it otherwise?”
“Oh, come now; you would never be so rude, and it does you a disservice to force me to imagine that you would.” The Doctor took out a key- from where, she wasn’t sure, but after befriending Pinkie Pie she’d learned not to question such things- and moved as if to close the doors. “I’m terribly sorry, but I must be off. Somehow, despite all this time, I never seem to have enough… Well, time.”
Celestia could certainly understand that feeling, as odd a sentiment as it seemed coming from a time traveler. And then, suddenly, she at last realized something that she should’ve thought of hours ago, and was hit with both a rush of shame for her negligence, and elation that she wasn’t too late. “Wait!”
The Doctor paused before the doors. “Yes? Have I forgotten something again? I’m rather predisposed to it, it seems; often it feels like I simply have too many things in my head, and unfortunately without magic it’s been difficult to-”
“No, Doctor, the forgetfulness is mine,” she cut him off, endearing as she found his ramblings. He truly was cut from the same cloth as Twilight, to both of their credit. “I’m sorry, but I have a favor to ask. I don’t wish to intrude on your time, but it’s important to me.”
He nodded, suddenly serious again, as if he could flash-freeze the whimsy out of his head with the efficiency of a windigo. “Of course. What do you need?”
She shook her head. “It’s not about what I need- I assure you, you’ve done more than enough for me. It’s about my sister.”
Understanding instantly dawned upon his face, along with guilt. “Oh, dear me. How could I- I promise, Princess, I will-”
“Celestia, please. And don’t worry; apologies are all well and good, but best saved for when we have actually done something wrong, which I assure you you have not.” This seemed to calm him slightly. “However, after having had the most wonderfully illuminating day” -age and business were no excuse to give up one’s favorite sort of joke, no matter what her sister, her niece, the court, and the general public thought- “it would be criminal of me not to afford the same privilege to a pony who deserves it no less than I.” She allowed herself to consider the day she’d just had, and realized guiltily how long it had taken her, after literally being in the sky Luna so lovingly tended, to spare a thought for her sister. That was not a habit she would allow herself to enter. Never again.
The Doctor was nodding so much that his head appeared as if on a spring, and had set about adjusting the various controls of his box. “Absolutely, absolutely. If I nip by now, I should have plenty of time for the trip home if I park and catch the 3:43 train to the Crystal Empire, then the 11:02 train to Cloudsdale, and the 9:15 to Ponyville…”
She blinked. “How…”
“Time is relative, my friend!”
“But Cloudsda- nevermind.” She reluctantly began taking steps toward her desk, which, while not even a room’s length from her, seemed both to be miles away and to encompass her entire field of view. “Luna has a more varied role in this war than I, it’s true, but it’s one I don’t envy her for one bit.” That ship, if it had ever even arrived in port, had sailed, thanks to the exploits of Twilight’s student. “Doctor, I don’t know exactly what she needs right now” -another thing to be ashamed of- “but I beg you, if there’s anything you can do- you knew just what I needed, and I’m sure there’s something-”
“You needn’t beg, Celestia” he reassured her, over her increasingly frantic monologue. “Our Princess of the Night can’t be faring much better than you, and I shall do whatever I can to help ease this… mess… in which we are all enmired.” Then, to her astonishment, he bowed, for the first time since his appearance. “I promise you, I will do my best for her.”
She swallowed a deluge of thanks that she knew he didn’t need to hear, as well as no small amount of emotion. “That is… the greatest gift you could give me.” She spared a long look out the window, through which she could barely see the tower in which Luna currently, Faust willing, slept peacefully. “After you do, I believe I have a task of my own. I don’t know how I’ll find the time, I don’t even know if I can find the time, but speaking with you has… reminded me what it can mean to have somepony to confide in. You gave me the indescribable gift of allowing me not to go through this day, even one day, alone, and if I did not even attempt to afford my sister that same gift- that same right… She deserves the world, Doctor. I will never let myself forget it again.”
The Doctor once again moved to close the doors. “I couldn’t agree more.” Right before the charmingly creaky doors clicked shut, he stuck his head out. “Oh, and one more thing, if I may?”
She looked up from a report on the finances for the Whinnyapolis recruitment center that she’d forced herself to begin reading anew. “Yes, Doctor?”
“I was able to assist you today, but I ask you to please understand that you don’t need me,” he said, looking at her intently, as if to convey a weight that his words couldn’t carry alone. “I see your resolve when you speak of Luna; if you remember that resolve, you won’t need me to find the time for her, and you won’t need me to find the time for yourself. You can do it- and more than that, you must. I’m not the only one who could benefit from a reminder that things change.” He looked ever so slightly chagrined. “So please, if you can, try to show yourself the same kindness you showed me- for your sake, and for all of ours.” He smiled. “Consider it my payment for visiting your sister.”
Celestia didn’t know if that was a promise she could make- but then, the Doctor hadn’t asked for a promise.
“I… can try.” Saying it aloud gave her voice more strength, as if admitting such a thing could make it real. With more conviction, she continued, “I suppose the light won’t fade if I take things… a bit easier.” Could she? Could she really? She didn’t know.
But if it was easy to say, it wouldn’t mean anything.
Doctor Hooves nodded. “That’s as much as anypony can ask.” And he closed the doors behind him. Almost the instant he did, the mechanical sound began, and soon, with a gentle gust of wind, the box and the pony were gone.
…
Celestia was left to her papers.
She felt the hope, the excitement, the novelty, and everything she’d allowed to grow inside her over the past few hours begin to quiet.
But then… she turned a page over, the clock ticked forward, the afternoon grew a little later, and a sunbeam leapt through the window and bloomed on her desk. She felt warmth splash across her face as it shone through the window; not the infinitely comforting embrace of earlier, but warmth all the same.
The light was still there.