Celestia Sleeps In with a Vengeance
by Admiral Biscuit
First published
Celestia is so tired, she sleeps through her alarm.
One morning, the sun doesn't rise. Twilight is convinced that every timekeeping device in Ponyville has malfunctioned, while Luna blames Discord.
In Which the Moon Fails to Set
Celestia Sleeps In With A Vengeance
In Which the Moon Fails to Set
Admiral Biscuit
For Shachza
The moon hung low on the horizon, bathing Ponyville in harsh silver light and deep shadow. A few lights could be seen in the homes of the early risers—and the bakeries' ovens had been fired for hours. A slightly confused newspaper pony stood at the end of his route, saddlebags empty. He never finished his route before sunrise.
And in the Golden Oaks Treebrary, a lavender alicorn paced the floor, her hoofbeats clopping out an agitated tempo. She'd just heard the town clock chime out eight times, and she knew that the sun should be up.
At first, Twilight thought she'd really overslept, wasting away the entire day in bed. It had happened occasionally. She worked on projects late into the night, and when she finally finished, dragging herself to bed totally exhausted, she'd collapse into a senseless lump in her bed, unaware of the cock crowing, the town clock chiming . . . or frustrated patrons knocking on the door. While Spike usually handled the latter, there were times he was off with the Crusaders, or having a sleepover with the Crusaders at Rarity's. Enough times, in fact, that Mayor Mare had finally put her hoof down and threatened to fire Twilight if she couldn't open the library on time.
Of course, she didn't actually have the authority to fire Twilight, since the post came by royal writ; she did, however, have the ability to mention it in a report to the Nobles' Council, and Twilight could be sure that eventually Celestia would hear of it, and Celestia would not be pleased.
With that thought in mind, she'd gone to Spatulas and Alarm Clocks and bought herself a genuine wind-up alarm clock with two silver bells on the top and a little clapper which was—she was assured of this point—enough to wake up the soundest of sleepers.
She'd been skeptical. If a cock couldn't wake her up, what chance did an alarm clock have, shiny chrome case or no? Still, other Ponyvillians had given the alarm clock rave reviews, so she’d given it a try.
When Twilight had gotten back to the library, she'd carefully unwrapped it, read all four pages of instructions—including the first three pages which were simply warnings and did nothing to explain how the clock worked. It was interesting to note that it was not to be used as a flotation device, nor was it intended for fillies under the age of three.
The key fit into the slot in the back just like it was supposed to, and she’d wound it exactly 143½ times, which she'd calculated would allow the clock to keep proper time throughout the night without causing undue stress on the mainspring. The instructions had been adamant on that point—the clock was not to be overwound.
The minute and hour talon had been simple enough to set; the Ponyville clock had both. The second talon, on the other hoof, had been more of a challenge. She’d had no way of knowing exactly where the village clock was in its sweep of the dial, so she’d simply had to wait until she’d seen the minute talon click forward one step, and that would tell her it was the top of the minute. Unfortunately, to see that kind of detail, Twilight had had to rely on her telescope, and it had taken time—two seconds—to switch from looking through the telescope to pushing in the knob on the clock. Two seconds was, of course, an average; like any good scientist, Twilight had gathered numerous data points and graphed them out before she’d been satisfied. Forty minutes later, her alarm clock had been marching in lockstep with the Ponyville clock. She’d set the alarm for six AM, and had gently placed it on her bedstand, confident that she would arise on time.
The next morning, she’d discovered that she could—while still mostly asleep—fling an alarm-clock sized object across her loft with sufficient force to completely disassemble it, and yet not awaken sufficiently to realize she had done it. Only the insistent knocking of Rainbow Dash on her window—Rainbow Dash, of all ponies—had finally roused her from her slumber.
Five alarm clocks later, she had written a letter to the Celestia about the ability of high-level unicorns to sleep-cast, and had purchased the Super-Deluxe model, which was resistant to most direct-cast unicorn spells, would not fall through clouds, and was impervious to an earth pony's bucking magic. She had also written a strongly-worded letter to the Great Canterlot & Manehattan Alarm-Clock & Fire-Hose Company, indicating in no uncertain terms her displeasure with their product. They had responded by adding another page of warnings and cautions to the owner's manual, and had sent her a voucher for 5% off her next purchase of a fire hose.
She was reasonably confident in the Super-Deluxe’s durability. It has lasted an entire month longer than its predecessor, despite having had a plethora of spells cast upon it, and—in the last part of the month—several wing-buffets and an earth-pony style bucking. Despite her lackluster performance as a librarian, she had been promoted to Princess, a position which had come with some unusual perks.
And here it sat, ticking merrily away. She'd verified that it was keeping correct time with two egg-timers, a time candle, and a water clock. She would have used a sundial, too—but sundials don't work in the dark. Incidentally, her alarm clock also still perfectly matched the Ponyville clock.
Twilight considered the evidence before her carefully. Even with the addition of a pegasus' wings and an earth pony's mighty strength, she was still a scientist at heart, and a scientist never jumped to conclusions.
After an hour of thoughtful deliberation—assisted by two books on philosophy, a poorly-written research paper, and a small tipple of applejack, she came to her conclusion: ponies make clocks, and ponies are fallible. Celestia raises the sun, and Celestia is infallible. Thus, it stood to reason that—as unlikely a coincidence as this was—the egg-timers, water clock, candle, and town clock had all failed in exactly the same manner, and therefore were not reliable time-keeping devices. She vowed to write another letter . . . just as soon as the sun came up. Twilight fully intended to go back to bed in the interim. She'd just have to rely on the somewhat unreliable performance of a cock to wake her.
As well-reasoned as Twilight's hypothesis was, it was unfortunately in error. All the clocks in Ponyville—yea, throughout Equestria—were keeping time as well as they had on the day they were manufactured. Except, of course, for the sundials. And in the halls of the Canterlot castle, chaos reigned.
Luna's attempt to lower the moon had failed. Selene had gotten stuck just above the horizon. Frowning, Luna looked over at the elaborate armillary sphere that graced her balcony. It appeared that it was time . . . but perhaps she'd miscalculated. Without any wasted effort, she drew forth her sextant and her torquetum, re-calculating a hooffull of variables. The beads flew so fast on her abacus that they threatened to set the wires aflame.
She re-checked her lunation calendar. That took a quarter of an hour. It was possible that she'd made a mistake, somehow: an earlier miscalculation could have thrown the entire schedule off. But no; there were no mistakes.
Next, she mentally reviewed every holiday that she knew of. There were days—such as April Foal's Day—when ponies played tricks on each other; if that were the case, perhaps Celestia was having a simple jape. However, a review of Equestrian Holidays Through the Ages made no mention of this day having any especial import. Her planner showed that she had lowered the moon on schedule on this day for the last three years, which made it even more unlikely that Celestia was pulling her leg.
Now annoyed, she tried to bump the moon below the horizon a few more times, but it was still stuck. Even when she lifted it a few degrees and slammed it down, it would not cross the horizon.
Now thoroughly annoyed, she leapt off her balcony and soared over the castle. Instinctively, her first stop was the Royal Stone Statue Gardens—informally known as 'Those Who Annoyed Celestia'—to make certain that Discord was still on his plinth.
He wasn't, of course, and it was only after a full five minutes of swearing eloquently enough to wilt a hundred square feet of hedgemaze that she remembered Fluttershy had reformed him. Cursing more quietly, she teleported herself to Ponyville, determined to get to the bottom of this. Whenever the heavenly bodies misbehaved, it was a good bet Discord had a claw, paw, talon, or hoof in it.
She crept up to Fluttershy's window, cloaking herself in darkness, prepared for the worst. Her teeth were clenched at the memory of his laugh. However, when she finally peeked her head above the sill, instead of seeing a restrained Fluttershy and no Discord, she instead observed the two, working side-by-side to feed the animals. While it was true that Discord was transmogrifying the carrot Angel held every time the rabbit tried to take a bite, he was causing no other mischief. She almost—almost —felt a pang of guilt at suspecting him. Then she remembered chocolate rain coming from cotton-candy clouds, and the moment passed.
Luna stomped away from Fluttershy’s cottage, finally teleporting back to the castle when she was out of earshot. Even if Discord had nothing to do with the current malfunction of the heavenly bodies, he'd harass her to no end if he thought she thought he was responsible.
Appearing above the castle, she resolved to do what she should have done right away. She soared to Celestia's balcony, landing lightly on the slippery marble. Why in Tartarus did Celestia insist on marble floors for the castle? Wood would have been less slippery, and so much quieter.
Luna cautiously eased open the great Prench doors. If somepony nefarious was in Celestia's chambers, she wanted to sneak up on her. Or him.
As soon as she eased open the door to Celestia's sleeping chambers, a strange soft growling greeted her. She perked up her ears, attempting to locate the source of the noise. It appeared to be coming from Celestia's bed. . . .
Slowly sliding her hooves forward so as to not give away her presence, she crept towards the gigantic four-poster bed. All the while, her ears were swiveling to gather the faintest noise, and her eyes darted around the room, looking for a single object out of place.
She noticed that Celestia's peytral was hanging neatly from its hook, but her crown was lying on the floor, and her golden horseshoes were lying on their sides, almost as if they had been pulled off in a great hurry. Her hoof on the curtain, she hesitated, a blush coming to her cheeks. What if her sister were . . . being intimate with another pony? Such a thing is perfectly normal, she reminded herself. Princesses have needs, too, just like anypony else. It was hard to keep that in mind, though; shortly after she'd discovered that she could view other ponies' dreams, she'd made the terrible mistake of viewing Celestia's. All these centuries later, the images were still vivid in her mind, so is it any wonder that she hesitated as she pulled back the curtain?
Her sister was decidedly not being intimate with anypony else. Instead, she was sprawled across her bed, her chin resting on her forelegs, while her hind legs were somewhat awkwardly stretched out to one side. It was a manner in which Luna had seen innumerable cats doze; it was not a position which was normally comfortable for ponies.
It was unlikely Celestia was feeling any discomfort, though. Not if the shallow rise and fall of her barrel was any indication—a motion which coincided with the noise Luna had heard earlier. She held a hoof up to her mouth to cover an un-princessly giggle; her big sister snored.
She could have gently nuzzled her sister’s cheek to wake her, or taken a more direct route with a hoof-prod, or even a bucket of water. Such were devices Celestia had utilized to wake her when she was but a foal, and everypony knew turnabout was fair play. Luna did none of those things. Instead, she simply watched her sister sleep.
This is who she really is, Luna thought. With all the cares and the regalia stripped away. Absently, she righted her sister’s golden shoes and placed them in a neat line next to her bed. Celestia’s mane and tail were barely flowing; the everpresent shifting aurora had slowed to a pace which matched her breathing.
She levitated Celestia’s golden crown to the top of her nightstand. She hated an untidy room. Clothing and regalia should be put away when not in use. Everything must be in order.
When did I last see Celestia sleep? Like filings to a magnet, Luna’s eyes were drawn back to her sister. She sighed. She couldn’t bring herself to wake her sister. Instead, she gently tip-hooved out of the room, only pausing once to admire a very realistic stone alarm clock which was seated in a slight depression in the wall.
She yawned. It was nearly time for her to go to bed, but there were things she still had to do. There was likely already a line of ponies outside the throne room, all demanding to know why the sun hadn’t risen on schedule. Fortunately, she knew just the words to reassure them.
Unsurprisingly, the chambers outside the great throne room were full to overflowing. Luna slowly made her way to the dais, checking to make certain everything was in order. As soon as she had reached a position at the base of the throne—actually sitting on it would send the wrong signal, she reasoned—she nodded her head at the guard, who ordered the the doors be opened.
A great flood of ponies spilled through the door, pausing in confusion as they saw that the younger Princess was at the throne. They were quickly pushed forward by the seething mass behind them, until the room was nearly completely full. She could see that there were more ponies in the antechamber, craning their necks to get a view within.
She just stood, waiting patiently, until the babble of the crowd died down.
“Now hear me,” Luna’s voice boomed over the gathered crowd. “We know that thou hast come to complain that thy timepieces no longer function correctly.”
“Excuse me, Princess,” Blueblood interrupted. “But the newspaper said that sunrise would be at 6:51 this morning, and the sun hasn’t risen yet.”
“If the sun has not risen, then it is not 6:51,” Luna decreed in a voice that would brook no argument. “Does anypony else have a question?”
Meekly shaken heads were her only answer.
“Very well then. It is decided that it is not yet time for the sun to rise. When the sun does rise, it shall be 6:51 am. Set your clocks accordingly. I have spoken.”
And Celestia slept on.
Author's Notes:
For more information about the tools Luna uses, click this convenient LINK.
In Which Celestia Continues To Sleep
Celestia Sleeps In with a Vengeance
In Which Celestia Continues To Sleep
Admiral Biscuit
With an audible pop, Her Royal Lunar Highness Princess Luna returned to Ponyville. She arrived just above the very center of the greensward that faced the mayoral tower.
She did not notice the scorched spot in the neatly-mowed grass, nor would she have cared if she had. She was on a mission, and she would not be baulked by the foliage underhoof. Turning her head to orient herself, she stomped to her destination.
Luna had—over the course of months of night court—memorized the maps of every inch of Equestria. It was all well and good to visit ponies in their dreams, but that task was made much easier when she knew where they lived. She was hoping that one day they’d invent a long-distance communications device which linked to every home in Equestria, and she could just monitor it from a secret room in the basement of the castle—while she denied its existence—but so far the earth pony inventors had failed her. Even a few very pointed dreams had borne no fruit; they’d invented record players, but what good did those do?
It was no difficulty for her to navigate the darkened streets of Ponyville; after all, the night was her domain. She paid no heed to the ponies who ran for the safety of the bar as she passed. None of them were her quarry.
Twilight watched as a burst of dragonfire hit the wall beside her. In the moment before another came, she leapt across the alleyway and through the front door of a Rarity’s Crab Shack. She yanked a metal serving tray off the wastebasket and used it to deflect another blast, which exploded over the lobster tank. Dozens of crustaceans scurried to terrible freedom.
She leapt over the serving-counter and into the kitchen, making for the trot-up window. With the front of the store now aflame, there was no other escape. Unconsciously, her ear swiveled, picking up a faint scream off in the distance. She’s still alive. That’s good.
The dragon gave a roar of frustration, and she waited. One more burst of flame came down the narrow alleyway, and she yanked the tail of her cloak into the recess just in time, then she was galloping forwards, faster than the dragon could react. It came down to a mare-on-drake confrontation; it always did. The wide brim of her hat flopped down, briefly cutting off her line of sight, but that really didn’t matter. She knew where the dragon was.
“Help me!” The shrill scream set Twilight’s fur on end in an involuntary piloerection. She would help; all she needed to do was corner the dragon, and then. . . .
Another gout of flame set her hat afire. Nonchalantly, she flung it aside, frisbeeing it towards a lake. Horn now revealed, she channeled all her power towards the dragon, slamming him into the ground.
“Your flames are no match for my magical powers, it would seem,” she gloated as the dragon writhed on the ground below her.
“Perhaps not, Twilight Sparkle,” he hissed, rolling to face her. “Yet I have still won.”
She stood on her hind hooves and crossed her forelegs over her well-muscled barrel. “Explain.”
“I have hidden your true love in a place where you shall not find her.” The drake smirked at her. “If you kill me—and I don’t believe you will—you’ll never know where she is.”
“Oh, but I will. You have already given yourself away.” Twilight looked smugly back. “It was a simple matter of watching your attacks, and using simple logic.” Five minutes later, with the dragon idly tapping a claw on the ground, she finished her monologue. “. . . . therefore it is provable and demonstrable that you have placed her in the cupola of the Ponyville town hall.”
“Perhaps I did,” the dragon stated, snapping his fingers. “Yet, with the anti-magic field I have placed around it, you are powerless to rescue her.”
“Your confidence is misplaced, fool!” Twilight yanked off her mask and tore off her skintight garb, revealing her majestic wings. “I have these now!” She bucked him hard in the muzzle, launching herself up, up, up. Two powerful wingbeats later she was at the locked window. She lasered it open with her horn and stepped across the smouldering windowframe.
“Save me,” cried the mare in the room again.
“I’m here for your, my love!” Twilight lifted the mare in her hooves, leapt out the window and gently soared to the ground, landing in the center of a field of roses which was mysteriously untouched in the rampage.
“You’re my hero, Twilight Sparkle! I’d do anything to thank you. Anything at all.”
A small smile played across the youngest alicorn’s lips. “I cannot deny a lady her wishes.” She tore off her costume again, pulling the pink mare close. She smelled just like bubblegum. “Kiss me. Kiss me so that the gods themselves know of our love.”
“TWILIGHT SPARKLE!”
“Oh, say my name baby! Say my name!”
“TWILIGHT SPARKLE!”
Twilight’s head jerked up in surprise, her eyes flying open. There, looming over her bed were two angry blue eyes, and those eyes were attached to an alicorn that looked miffed and vaguely disturbed. It was awkward enough to be awakened by a cock; the wrathful visage of the Princess of the Night was even worse.
“Mmh, sorry Luna. I was having the most wonderful dream . . . I was—”
“Speak not of thy dream. We didst see more than enough; we desirest not to re-live it.” She frowned. “Is this the manner in which you greet ponies who have come to your quarters?”
“Oh, sorry.” Twilight sheepishly reached up and wiped some saliva off her chin. “I, um . . . when I sleep, I kind of . . . drool. A lot.”
“We do not speak of your salivary glands, which seem to be functioning well for a mare of your age. We refer to your wings.”
“Hmm?” Twilight tilted her head back at her stiff wings. “They’re always like that when I get up. It makes going to the bathroom so difficult, I have to kind of twist to get through the door and then—”
“WE COMMAND THAT THOU SPEAKEST NO MORE!” Lowering her voice slightly in deference to everypony else in Ponyville, Luna continued. “Stow thine wings properly before you make more of a mockery of thine position.”
“Um . . . it’s like they’ve got a mind of their own.” Twilight grunted with effort, attempting to coax her recalcitrant wings back into their proper position. “I haven’t really gotten used to them yet.” She managed to get one up against her bedframe and began pushing against it. “It just won’t stay down. You know, usually when I’m in the shower, they kind of tuck themselves in. Well, they go limp a little before that, but . . . Princess?”
Twilight looked around her empty bedroom curiously. The Princess of the Night was nowhere to be found. Now I wonder where she has— Twilight’s thoughts were cruelly interrupted by a blast of icy water. As she scrabbled backwards against the relentless onslaught, she dimly noted that the gleaming brass spout that was the source of the flow appeared to be a Knobs and Nozzles brand Nº 5 fire-hose nozzle, for attachment thereto.
“Tis truly a well-constructed hose thou dost have,” Luna muttered around a mouthful of the same hose. “We hath never seen its equal.”
“It’s the premium version,” Twilight shouted over the deluge. “Guaranteed not to leak unless immersed in magma. It resists cuts from glass, gems, sharp rocks, and most importantly, paper.”
Luna hoofed the valve closed and spit the hose out of her mouth. “Thy wings art stowed properly now. Dry thyself off and meet us in the common room. We art in need of thy magic.”
“There’s a box of Cinnabonbons in the kitchen,” Twilight offered. “Help yourself to a couple.”
Twilight mentally added “Have Spike dry bedroom” to her list of things to do today. She bumped her muzzle on the bathroom door. It was closed.
“Spike? Are you in there?”
“Taking a bath. I’m going to Rarity’s this morning.” She heard splashing and bubbles popping. “I got up early, I think. The sun isn’t up yet, anyway. So I’m taking a bath.”
“Well, hurry up. I’ve got to piss like a racehorse.”
A voice from below shouted up accusingly. “We heard that!”
Twilight shifted around on her hooves in front of the door. She began chewing her lower lip as a thin film of sweat broke out on her forehead. Finally, she could wait no more. “I’ll just pop in for a moment.”
Spike looked up in alarm as she appeared in the bathroom. “Can’t you just . . . oh Celestia, why? I can’t . . . blurb . . . it sounds even louder underwater! How is that possible?”
“Ten cups of tea. Spike, did you know that tea is a diuretic? Well, at least the caffeine in tea is—are you paying attention? I—Spike, why are you rubbing soap in your eyes? Won’t that hurt?
“Oh, be mature about this. You know that everypony pees. Haven’t you ever heard Rarity? She tries to hold it as long as she can, but that’s not healthy. It can cause incontinence. If the . . . Spike? You have to breathe, Spike. Pull your head up out of the water. Don’t make me come over there.”
* * *
Twilight finally stepped into the central room of the treebrary. Luna was intently studying a thin book on topiaries in Las Pegasus. It was a very slender volume, since the intended focal point of the Ponyazzo had promptly fallen through the clouds and smashed to its destruction on the desert floor far below. Nevertheless, the photographer had managed to get a remarkable series of pictures—and the uprushing wind had lent a certain je ne sais quoi to the shrub. A focal point in the stark blue sky, a foliage in flight, a monument to the inevitable deconstruction of the great pony works. One could even wax philosophical about it, if one were so inclined.
“We must hie to Canterlot,” Luna stated bluntly, snapping the book shut.
“Oh!” Twilight’s eyes began darting around the room. “Just let me get my bags. I’ll need my crown and hoofie-boots, too. And that weird necklace yoke thing. It’s up in my room. Is this going to be a formal visit? I—” She stopped short as a telekenetic force grabbed her tail.
“There is no time to waste. Thou needst take nothing. Thou art fine as thou art.”
Twilight looked dubiously at her still-dripping coat. “Are you sure? Because—”
pop
“—and if, oh look, here we are.” Twilight gazed around the castle courtyard. It was quite calm and peaceful. There were a few night sentries patrolling the wall, and over on the east side of the castle she could see some of Luna’s batponies fluttering around a brightly illuminated window. Occasionally one would bump his muzzle into the glass, shake his head, and flit off towards another lighted window.
“Look to the sky, Twilight Sparkle, and tell us what thou seest not.”
The hair on Twilight’s back stood straight up. It’s a test! And I didn’t study my sky charts! Think, think . . . what order does Luna like to have her constellations named? Alphebetical or by position in the sky? She’s staring at me. “Um, I see Marigold the Unicorn over there . . . and Orion’s kind of below the horizon, but it should be right over there. The Horsehead Nebula is—”
“We shall alight upon our sister’s balcony, Twilight Sparkle. Thou must be silent. Follow us.” She took flight with a mighty flap of her wings. With a little trepidation, Twilight followed. She’d been taking flying lessons with Rainbow Dash ever since she’d gotten her new wings, but unfortunately the pegasus had been more interested in stunt flying than takeoffs.
As she closed in on the balcony, Twilight forced herself to remember what Rainbow had said. Grit your teeth. You don’t want to bite your tongue when you land. When the ground’s close, flare your wings. Right before you hit, hold your forehooves out in front of yourself. And make sure to close your eyes, or you’ll get dirt and stuff in them. She landed just like Rainbow had suggested, skidding across the balcony to stop in an undignified heap when the railing caught her. She was going to have to remember to get Rainbow to teach her how to make a non-crash landing one of these days.
Luna had watched her landing with the same open-mouth admiration that fans of the beleaguered Detrot hoofball team favored during the teams 0-16 season. It had been a EHL record which had lead to talks of banishing the entire team to the moon—although it was widely believed that they would somehow screw that up, too, perhaps landing on a different heavenly body entirely.
Wordlessly, Luna held the giant Prench doors open, nodding her head for Twilight to enter.
A few minutes later, Twilight re-emerged. “So.”
“Indeed.”
“She’s so. . . .”
“Quite.”
“She had her hooves wrapped around a pillow like it was a foal.”
“Ah.”
“And she was humming in her sleep.”
“So now thou dost see our problem.”
Twilight bit her lip. “Does . . . if she . . . wait. So—all this time my clock was right?”
“Yes, we would imagine it was.”
“And my egg timer, too?”
“We suppose that it would also be accurate.”
“And the Ponyville clock?”
“Yes, Twilight Sparkle, we believe that your timepieces would continue to be accurate. Except for sundials, of course.”
“Princess?”
Luna looked at her curiously.
“What is time, exactly? My alarm clock says that it’s—well, I don’t know what it says, since it’s not here. But imagine that it says it’s 9 am. And the Ponyville clock says the same thing. The sundial in the market square says nothing, and Big Mac’s cock hasn’t risen yet. Who are we to say what time it is?”
“We are a princess of Equestria. Nopony save Celestia has more power than us. Oh, and we and Cadance also have more power than you.” Luna looked at the dark sky. “Selene is tired, and she must get her rest. Therefore, as difficult as it may be, we must do our princessly duties. The sun must be raised.”
“Oh.” Twilight looked back at the Prench doors. “Surely she deserves a little rest. Equestria won’t fall apart in a day—”
“Neigh, Twilight, we must raise the sun ourselves.” Luna floated a pan-holder over to Twilight. “We found these in the kitchen. We understand that the sun is hot, so we must be cautious to avoid burns. Slide this over your horn.”
Author's Notes:
In Which the Sun is Finally Raised
Celestia Sleeps In with a Vengeance
Chapter 3: In Which the Sun is Finally Raised
Admiral Biscuit
The streets of Ponyville were calm and nearly silent. Only the soft weeping of a piebald colt could be heard above the silence. Two times, Luna had come to Ponyville, and two times she had not visited Pipsqueak.
In the years since Twilight Sparkle had come to Ponyville, the town had witnessed more than its fair share of disasters. From parasprites devouring all the food and many of the buildings in town, to an overgrown dragon destroying several buildings, to an Ursa Minor destroying several buildings, to a . . . in short, Twilight's arrival had been a boon for construction ponies, who were constantly repairing monster damage.
The rest of the ponies in town had just accepted this new reality. Twilight had taught them all that panicking didn't solve anything, so as the night dragged on, they made their way in droves to Sugarcube Corner, buying comfort food they could enjoy while waiting to see what sort of new doom was coming. The Flower Trio grabbed the first stallion they could find who was willing to help them repopulate Equestria if that became necessary, and dragged him down to their reinforced bunker. His grin only got wider as they dogged the blast door shut.
Most ponies stayed in their homes, doors barricaded and welcome mats pulled in. Rarity frantically stowed all her dresses in fire-proof, flood-proof, parasprite-proof, CMC-resistant storage containers she kept on hoof for these—or other similar—contingencies, such as sleepovers. Then she calmly brushed her mane and tail in the soft glow of a kerosene lantern, and gracefully made her way to the treebrary.
Applejack put on her hat and headed into town. Her family could rebuild a barn in no time at all, and the trees generally survived whatever shenanigans the monsters got up to.
Rainbow, as was her custom, shirked her weather duties and flew to the treebrary, followed by Pinkie. True, the bakery was doing brisk business, but they were presently out of supplies. The Cakes felt that was for the best; they could huddle together as a family and wait for the end without worrying about turning away business.
None of the girls were surprised that Twilight wasn't there. Spike informed them that Luna had summoned Twilight to Canterlot, and showed them to the meeting room. He passed out the necklaces, and then waited hoof and hoof on Rarity like the hormone-driven adolescent that he was.
“Where's Fluttershy?” Rarity finally asked. “Isn't she usually here?”
“She'll turn up,” Rainbow offered.
Fluttershy hadn't noticed the lack of a dawn. She only ever catnapped, because so many of her animal friends were nocturnal, and it just wouldn't be fair to ignore them. She danced happily around her living room, talking to the bats and owls and opossums and such who were gleefully frolicking in the darkness.
She looked up when Discord walked out of his room, wearing mismatched striped pajamas. He had a bottomless cup of coffee in his talon, and was rubbing his eyes with his paw.
He glanced around the peaceful scene, checked his watch, and broke into a broad grin. Producing a silly straw with a flourish, he emptied his coffee and then looked through the open bottom, stretching it like a telescope. “Oh my, I spy with my little eye no sun in the sky.”
“You're up early,” Fluttershy whispered, nosing a ripe strawberry to a little brown bat. “Couldn't you sleep?”
Discord shook his head.
“Do you want to watch the bats with me? They're really quite cute.”
Discord raised an eyebrow, but stretched out on the floor, and began watching them flutter around her living room. Some of them darted at insects which had been drawn through the unglazed windows by the soft glow of a firefly lamp; others took up roost in shady spots in the rafters.
“Fluttershy, dear?” Discord pointed with his tail. “What are those two doing?”
“Oh.” Fluttershy's cheeks turned slightly pink. “They're . . . making babies.”
“If his head is up there, and her head is down—“
“To prolong the, um . . . female bats sometimes. . . . Isn't nature fascinating?”
“Indeed it is.” Discord leered at the bats. “Quite fascinating.”
The two alicorns stood side-by-side on the balcony, facing the eastern horizon. Their horns were blazing underneath the pan-holders, and their eyes were half-closed in concentration.
The object of their attention—a blazing sphere—was surrounded by a blurple light that was the combined field of the two alicorns.
"Careful, careful," Luna muttered.
"Ngh," Twilight replied. Sweat was pouring off her body from the intense magical expenditure. A full eighty percent of her concentration was devoted to the sphere; the remainder was equally divided between regret that she had not practiced sharing a field more often, and wondering if Luna had remembered to turn off the faucet after she'd used the firehose. Sometimes hoses burst, and water and books didn't mix—everypony knew that—and she just couldn't remember if the library's insurance policy covered inundation. It probably did—with a dragon in the house, she'd been forced to buy a fairly comprehensive policy—but it was distressing that she couldn't remember.
As soon as we get this done, I'll have to teleport back home and make sure—well, if I have enough energy. Or I could just have the Princess send a letter to Spike. No, she's asleep. Well, maybe Luna can. Or maybe I can. I'm a princess now, I ought to be able to use dragonfire spells. Why haven't I tried yet? Oh yeah—because I've never needed to send a letter to myself. Twilight chuckled at the thought. Spike would be so confused.
"THIS IS NO LAUGHING MATTER!"
"Eep!" Twilight snapped her head around, and lost focus of her levitation spell. She tried to get it back, but it was too late. The orb plummeted, and shattered on the ground. For a moment, flames flickered around the edges, before darkness fell again.
Luna glared at Twilight.
"We could . . . put it back together?" Twilight said hopefully
"Nay, Twilight Sparkle. Such a task is impossible. Even were we able to gather all the shards, we would never manage to re-light it." She scraped a hoof against the ground, giving off an ear-flattening screech as her steel shoe slid across the granite. "'Tis a pity; our sister did favor it so."
Twilight's eye twitched. "Ah, maybe we can just not tell her."
"She will know, Twilight Sparkle. Thou cannot lie to our sister."
"Can, too. I concealed a parasprite invasion from her."
Luna looked at her sharply. "Were those the same parasprites which ravished Fillydelphia after a crazed pink one-mare-band set them loose in the Everfree?"
"No." Twilight shook her head. "After Pinkie led them into the Everfree, I had Zecora brew a special potion which caused them to mutate into tapeworms. It's interesting how many uses a potion like that has."
"Tapeworms?"
"Voracious eaters . . . it seemed fitting."
"We understand. Once you had changed them into a form which could not fly away, you destroyed them."
"In a manner of speaking, yes." Twilight smiled disarmingly. "Now, about the sun—"
"You did not destroy them?"
"I wanted to, but we took a vote. Fluttershy was against killing them, of course. Applejack didn't care, so long as they wouldn't hurt her crop or barn. Rarity was all in favor of wiping them out, and naturally, Zecora encouraged their destruction as well." Twilight sighed. "But then Rainbow and Pinkie came up with an idea that not only rid us of the parasprites but also funded repairs to the town."
"Thou should have petitioned the Crown."
Twilight shrugged. "After we'd pretended there had never been a parasprite invasion? Yeah, that wouldn't have gone over so well. We sold them as a weight-loss supplement."
"Twilight! That's immoral, barbaric, and also illegal."
"Oddly enough, no it isn't. Not illegal, anyway. We made certain that the bottles were correctly labeled, stated that all ponies should consult their physician before and during their 'diet,' and said that this miracle weight-loss drug would soon be banned in Equestria. We sold out in an hour." She turned to face Luna. "Besides, is it any less moral than stealing Celestia's prized possessions for a magical experiment?" She waved a hoof in the direction of the courtyard where a janitor was already sweeping the broken fragments into a large dustpan.
"Thou dost make a good case," Luna admitted. "Very well." She turned to a box of Celestia's personal Hearth's Warming ornaments, floated another one in her aura, poured lamp oil over it, and lit it on fire. With an expert flick of her head, she flung it over the courtyard as it flamed to life, and nodded at Twilight. "Let us attempt again."
After another hour of practice, the alicorns had graduated from Hearth's Warming ornaments to bowling balls, and then to boulders. Luna grinned as the two of them delicately moved a hundred-ton boulder over the courtyard, much to the dismay of the janitor. To his good fortune, they did not drop it, and once the flames had died down, Luna gently set it back down on the mountain where they'd found it.
Twilight rubbed her hooves together. "Shall we light the moon next, and try with that?"
"Thou shalt not deface Selene," Luna said. "We are now ready to try with the sun. However, we should go to my balcony. The runes there will amplify our power."
"Is that why you and Celestia prefer to raise your respective heavenly bodies from your balconies?"
"Yes," Luna replied. "There is a cost to this. Such magic concentrated in one place corrupts the surroundings. It's why the Everfree is so wild—magic has been leaking from our old castle for centuries."
"So then, why do you do it now in a populated town?"
"The seat of government? Nopony notices it slowly becoming more corrupt. 'Twas a brilliant choice by our sister."
The two alicorns stepped to the edge of the courtyard balcony and took flight. Luna gracefully leapt into the sky, her broad wings quickly giving her altitude. Twilight’s liftoff was more spectacular: just as Rainbow had taught her, when taking flight from a height, the proper method to gain speed was two barrel rolls, a loop, and a forward slip. She came very low at the end of the last maneuver, and had to gallop along the courtyard to get her airspeed back.
Luna was waiting on the lunar balcony when Twilight arrived. The youngest alicorn’s finishing move—transition to vertical flight until she lost her airspeed, and then delicately hooves-down—went badly awry, but the Lunar Guards had quick reflexes and caught her.
And then they shoved her into a lighted window, and let go.
Luckily, it was above the balcony, and Twilight was an expert at short-range teleportation, so after a very brief, princess-like falling scream, she simply flashed in at Luna’s hooves.
“Who dost thou seek to impress?” Luna asked curiously. “We have seen more graceful flight from a buffalo.”
“Buffalo can’t fly, Princess,” Twilight reminded her, slicking back her mane. She’d have to see about getting a toothpick to chew on. It would really help her image.
Luna gave her a strange look, but Twilight didn’t notice: she was looking at Luna’s heavenly body.
“We shall begin by lowering the moon. Once Selene is just brushing the horizon, her momentum shall help us loft the sun.”
“Doesn’t the sun come up on the other side of the tower?” Twilight asked, looking at the obscuring mass of stone behind them.
“Yes, but thou wilt not need to espy it. Simply reach out with thine field for the largest thing thou canst find.”
“If it’s that easy, Princess, why did we practice with all of Celestia’s Hearth’s Warming Ornaments first?”
“Because we told her again and again that if she didn’t have them put up in the attic we’d set them aflame and toss them into the courtyard. Hearth’s Warming was over a month ago,” Luna said flatly. “Oh, and to practice sharing fields."
“I’ve already done that with Cadance and the tatzlwurm, you know.”
“Tis an euphemism unfamiliar to us.”
“What? No! It’s not—Discord was involved, and—“
“We have see thine dreams, we needeth hear no more.” Luna turned to face the moon. “Remember, Twilight Sparkle, first a little push to get her going, and then pull for all thou art worth.”
Twilight nodded, and rubbed her forehooves together. If she’d had a toothpick, she’d have spit it dramatically on the balcony. As it was, she had to settle for sticking her tongue out the side of her mouth.
Luna reached out with her aura, gently caressing Selene. With a gentle sigh, like a spring breeze playing over a field of tulips, the moon retreated to the horizon.
The restful simile was broken by Luna’s voice. “Now, Twilight. Now! Pull for all thou art worth.”
Twilight’s horn flared to life, and with an almighty grunt, she dug her hooves into the stone. Her eyes flashed white as she concentrated every fiber of her being into the spell, reaching out and grasping hold as Luna had instructed her. It would be hard, hot, and heavy, but she was the mare for the task. She could handle it, and the stylish pan-holder on her horn would prevent burns.
With a feral grunt, Twilight snapped her head upward.
Two blocks away, a five-story statue of Prince Blueblood achieved escape velocity, blazing upwards like a giant stone bottle rocket.
“Further and heavier,” Luna said. “As far as thou canst reach.”
Twilight nodded, and bent her head to her task. Luna raised an eyebrow as Sirius flickered in the sky.
“Slightly closer,” the nocturnal diarch whispered. “You overshot by eighty-one tetrillion kilometers.”
“Is that far?”
“We do not know. Metric was invented during our banishment.” She let her field out, reaching for the sun. “Here, follow us, interleave thine energy with ours, and together we shall find the sun.”
The pair of alicorns reached together, their fields coursing around the corona of the sun. Slowly, carefully, they lifted it into its place in the sky.
Both were dripping sweat when it finally broached the horizon. Twilight’s breath was coming in short gasps, but Luna had better endurance, and showed no other visible signs of strain. “Just nudge it a hair to the left,” she instructed. “Right . . . there.”
Twilight collapsed on the balcony. “I don’t mean to criticize, Princess,” she panted, “but there’s hardly a difference in positions.”
“Not at all. A mere shift of three arc seconds is enough to shine the sunlight directly in our sister’s eyes.”
Twilight glared at her. “You wanted to move the sun to blind Celestia?”
“To encourage her to wake.” Luna pulled off her pan-holder and tossed it off the balcony, bopping her horn experimentally. “Our horn feels as hard as ever; how does yours feel?”
Author's Notes:
In Which Celestia Wakes
Celestia Sleeps In
In Which Celestia Wakes
Admiral Biscuit
Celestia dreamed.
She dreamed she was but a foal, close to her mother's side. The meadowlands stretched in every direction as far as she could see, a sea of waving green grasses under a cloudless blue sky. There was so much of it that she knew even if she lived a thousand years, she'd never reach the end of the plains, but it didn't matter. She was perfectly content to graze along with the herd, slowly making their way across the endless prairie. Perhaps one day she might have a foal of her own, and perhaps that foal might one day reach the end of the grasslands, but she doubted it. There was nothing more to the world than the grass and the sky; one was unreachable, and the other filled her belly and made her happy.
Celestia twitched on her bed and gave off a very unprincesslike—but adorable—snort, smacked her lips, and yawned.
The movement of her head was just enough to bring a ray of sunlight directly into her eye, where it seared through her optic nerve and directly into her brain.
Celestia did what any half-asleep sun-Goddess would do when faced with that situation: she squinted her eyes shut, and—by magical feel alone—pushed the sun back down to the horizon. If anypony had been in the room with her, they would have heard her mutter “five more minutes, Mom,” before drifting back off to sleep.
Twilight peeled the pan-holder off her horn and tossed it unceremoniously to the floor. Off in the distance, she could hear the sound of countless cocks rising to celebrate the sun's arrival.
“I did it,” she declared, proudly staring at the glowing orb in the sky until her eyes teared up. “I raised the sun!” Twilight, now mostly blinded, began a victory dance which could have been mistaken for a gran mal seizure.
“We hath done it—by which we mean we and thee.” Luna held up a hoof to cover a yawn. “Forgive us, Twilight Sparkle. ‘Tis well past our bedtime, and we must needs retire.”
“You go do that, Princess.” Twilight crossed her forearms and leaned back. She had suddenly come to the unfortunate realization that her dancing ability not only left something to be desired, but was also—in the words of the two-bit ticket a sunglasses-wearing batpony had just hoofed her—’a crime against Equanity.’
As Luna walked away, Twilight pondered the ticket she held in her aura. While it was admirable that the castle guard took their jobs so seriously—especially since he was technically off-duty after sunrise—the fact that she’d be paying it with her government salary rankled her just a bit. Perhaps when she got back home, she’d come up with a better method of redistribution of tax bits and send a letter to Celestia: a little bit of light reading for when the eldest Princess finally awoke.
Just then, the sun twitched briefly in the sky, and unceremoniously plummeted back below the horizon.
Twilight blinked, not sure what she wasn’t seeing. She still had spots in her eyes from staring at the sun.
Luna, however, had no illusions about what she did see: the temperamental, slippery sun had defied their commands. The younger diarch stomped her hoof against the balcony hard enough to crack the marble and slipped the pan-holder back over her horn.
“It is on.” she hissed through clenched teeth.
What happened next would be recorded in the history books as the Great Temporal Confusion. All throughout Equestria, mares and stallions with timepiece-themed cutie marks were scrambling around, dutifully setting clocks to 6:51 am, plus an appropriate allowance for the sun's current azimuth. This particular adjustment was hotly contested; the Acolytes of Mareona had one opinion and the Sacred Order of Timekeepers had a different one. Even the pegasi had once been drawn into an argument between the two sects, and after taking heavy casualties had retreated and thereafter claimed that they were only responsible for weather. Subsequent weather timetables had only listed generalities, such as “morning,” “afternoon,” and “today (or tomorrow if today turns out to be a good day for napping).” Thus, it was not laziness that led pegasi to be so lackadaisical when it came to matters of time, but simple self-preservation. Sadly, that important lesson was not taught in pegasus school, since napping had also been more important to the pegasi than egghead stuff like writing down history. Over the years, their artists had attempted to recreate the great pegasus deeds, although as it was generally done using clouds, there was a certain lack of permanence to the historical record.
As the sun bounced up and down like a gigantic fusioning yo-yo, earth ponies and unicorns throughout Equestria frantically took sights and measurements with their sextants, antikythera, and theodolites. Then they flipped through their manuals, and reset the clock upon which they were working. Ladders were taken down only to be put back up again, clocksprings were unwound and rewound, hourglasses were flipped and shaken, and water clocks were drained and refilled. By mutual consensus, nopony did anything with the sundials, save one: Merry May kept pushing the gnomon of the Maretania sundial back and forth until it finally broke off. Satisfied with her senseless act of vandalism, she flew off to take a nap.
The kerfuffle raged on for an hour. Or two. Or maybe only five minutes. It was impossible to be sure.
Throughout the great cities, unicorn after unicorn joined the fight, dimly remembering that once upon a time their ancestors had controlled the sun, and some primitive urge caused them to walk out into the streets, cast their aura towards it, and once again fulfill their tribe's destiny.
Tragically, none of them knew what time it actually was, so their efforts were rather counterproductive. Some of them tried to raise it, some of them tried to put it down, and a few myopic monoceroses mistook streetlights for the sun, sending those shooting skyward or smashing streetward.
In the midst of all this chaos, the Nobles' Council decided to hold a referendum to determine whether there was a need to decide if they should cast a vote to have a meeting discussing control of the sun. However, they were unable to muster a quorum, due to the fact that North Canterlot was Acolyte territory and East Canterlot was controlled by the iron hoof of the Sacred Order.
Celestia noticed none of this. She was still sacked out on her bed, totally oblivious to the growing disaster all around her. At one point, a particularly loud cry of frustration had caused her to roll over; from that point on, her back was to the inconsistent sun.
However, all of this finally came to a head at 9:01 Acolyte time, or 3:76 Sacred Order time. The sun was stuck on mid-morning in Canterlot, while Vanhoover was still being mooned. One last off-target unicorn spell clanged into the moon, and then there was a sound like a million Breezies simultaneously sneezing: silence.
Celestia woke.
Celestia woke with the grace becoming of an ancient alicorn. She yawned and stretched out her wings and legs, flicked her tail, and opened her eyes.
Her first realization that something was wrong was the sunlight in the room. For over a thousand years, there had been no sunlight unless she wished there to be, and it was therefore quite disorienting to wake up and see it shining into her room despite her.
One look at her clock provided no clues as to the cause. The clock—firmly embedded in the wall—was petrified, its stone face forever frozen in an expression of horror. Inasmuch as a clock can have an expression of horror, that is.
She frowned, and her frown only deepened as she slipped her hooves into her golden shoes and draped her golden petryal around her neck. By the time she had set her crown in place atop her ethereal mane—a process so complicated that there was an entire library wing devoted to it—her frown had gone from 'mildly concerned' to 'vaguely worried,' due in a large part to the screams and shouts from the streets below.
Celestia crossed her bedroom at a brisk walk and pushed open the great double doors, which were still slightly ajar because Twilight hadn't thought to close them all the way.
When she cast her eyes upon the street, her worst fears were realized. All throughout the city, ponies were aimlessly galloping in the streets or lancing their magic into the heavens, and not a single clock showed the same time.
It was pure bedlam.
Once upon a time, there had been no clocks, save for sundials. Back in those days, if Celestia slept in a bit, nopony would ever know, because sundials don’t work at night.
Indeed, if it had been up to Celestia, other forms of timekeeping would never have been invented. In a way, it was actually her fault—since, by some measure, it had been up to her. One of the castle chefs, knowing of Celestia’s love of soft-boiled eggs, had invented a simple minute-glass, which replaced the rather uncertain method of using a portable sundial. It was not long before another cook had improvised a time-candle, in order to make cakes just the way Celestia liked them, and from there it had been a long, slippery slope to the predicament which she currently found herself in.
Altogether, it was quite disappointing to see such a useful invention perverted into . . . this. What good was being a nearly all-powerful goddess if she couldn’t sleep in sometimes? And why did things fall apart so quickly when she wasn’t there to straighten them out? Luna had slept through a changeling invasion, and nothing bad had come from that. Certainly, there had been less chaos.
Nonetheless, there was nothing for it now. She couldn’t ban non-sun-based timekeeping devices—not if she still wanted to eat fluffy, moist cake, anyway. Occasional panics like this were the price of progress, that was all.
She splayed her hooves out on the balcony and tilted her head back. A golden nimbus flashed around her horn as she gathered her power to herself. Energy coursed through her and she tilted her head back and let it go, let it go.
The sun slid sideways across the celestial sphere, pushing the pock-marked moon below the Vanhoover horizon as it went: all the way to the peak of the heavens, shining proudly down on the ponies below.
A moment later, as if by magic, every clock in Equestria showed high noon.
• • •
High atop the Ponyville clock tower, a blue unicorn mare with a toothpaste mane and a dun-colored earth pony stallion had been arguing bitterly about what time it actually was, which had escalated into all four faces of the clock showing different times. When the sun screeched to a halt directly above the tower, the two of them paused. Dr. Hooves looked down at the base of the tower, observing that it cast no shadow in any direction; Minuette consulted her book of tables. Both of them turned back to face the back face of the clock, just in time for it to be blasted by solar magic.
The two ponies narrowed their eyes and turned to face each other, brows furrowed and forehooves scraping at the open-mesh ponywalk that surrounded the clock mechanism.
Minuette shoved her book back in her hammerspace and pulled out her backstaff, twirling it around a hoof. The doctor clenched his teeth tightly around his octant, and stared unblinkingly into the unicorn’s baby blues. A gear in the clock lurched, and from above the duo, there was a loud click as the release lever came off its stop. A quiet whirr as the fan fly came up to speed, and then they could only hear the tolling of the bells—iron bells! Keeping time, time, time in a sort of runic rhyme.
As the last echoes of the bells bells bells faded away into oblivion, Dr. Hooves chuckled and Minuette began to giggle. They tossed aside their instruments and came together.
Then they kissed.
Far across Ponyville, in the Crusader's treehouse, Sweetie Belle scratched 'sun-goddess' off the list of potential cutie marks, and moved on to 'arsonist,' an activity which all three crusaders could participate in equally. Incidentally, that would not be their most destructive cutie mark attempt; on a scale of 1 to 10, it would rate at best a 6.
Throughout town, shutters were unlatched and bunker doors were thrown open. Ponies climbed back out into the open air, most of them breathing sighs of relief that they had lived through whatever had just happened. As the dogs of the Flower Trio's bolt-hole were released, one particular stallion had a grin on his face that would last for an entire week.
Fluttershy was still at her cottage, trying to coordinate bedtimes between her nocturnal, diurnal, and crepuscular animals. She told herself that once she finally got things settled, she was going to write a strongly-worded letter to Canterlot. Discord just watched the events continue to unfold; even by his standards, the day had been marvelously chaotic thus far, and he was a big believer in not trying to improve upon perfection.
Back in the treebrary, Applejack threw caution to the wind and embraced Rarity. Rainbow woke up from her nap, blinking blearily, and then launched herself outside when it became obvious that Applejack might also attempt to hug her. Spike waited for a hug from Rarity long enough for it to get kind of awkward, and then he grumbled and put the Elements of Harmony back into their protective suitcase.
Pinkie, who had long made her peace with things that were out of her control, pronked back to the bakery.
And out in front of Sweet Apple Acres, Big Mac's cock proudly stood, welcoming the coming of a new day.
Author's Notes:
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