It is the last night of the year, and Applejack sits waiting for the dawn at the door of Ponyville’s library. It is three thirty in the morning, right at the balancing point between light and dark, when night is beginning to contemplate its last retreat. Exhaustion is pulling at her legs and eyes and head, reminding her of the softness of Twilight’s couch and the open invitation to blankets and pillows. Her body complains but does not rebel. She has kept it trained and toned and ready for vigils such as this one.

The streets of Ponyville are silent, the storefronts and houses as mute as graves. Manehattan may stay up, but a small town moves at a more sustainable pace. There are no lights on, and yet still she feels as if the whole world is holding its breath, as if each mote of dust is looking up and waiting for Twilight just as Applejack is waiting for Twilight.

Applejack will know what has happened when the sun comes up.

There are six ponies in the library tonight. Applejack waits outside in the quiet. Luna sits on the balcony and looks away. Rainbow lies in Twilight’s bed, and Rarity watches over a book, the warmth of her tea providing what comfort it can. Pinkie is wandering, and Fluttershy is struggling to stay awake. Spike is in the basement. Applejack cannot hear any of the others, however, and so for all intents and purposes she is alone in the darkness.

Twilight and Celestia are also alone, she reflects, and looks down to the saddlebag at her side. Yes, very alone, even if there are two of them. She has no idea how far out they are. They could be only a mile off. They could be halfway across the world. Of course, it does not really matter. Even had Twilight not begged them to keep away, even if Celestia had not put down the wards they all knew she would, Applejack still would not have interfered. Some things a mare has to do on her own, and help would only spoil the process. She supposes that when a pony finds herself with wings, she has to start learning on her own.

From the pouch, she produces the pipe that Twilight has enchanted for her. She chuckles, looking at it, at how the tiny runes glow at her touch as if they recognize their maker’s name on Applejack’s tongue, waiting to be called.

“Twilight, you never were afraid of any of this,” she says to the air. Applejack needs only to fill the bowl; the pipe sets its own light, and she puffs, letting the charring light do its work. It does not last long, dying away and leaving only a tiny trail of smoke. The runes still glow their blueish light, casting her in strange half-shadows, though Applejack cannot see this.

Magic never seems to bother Twilight. Not once had she ever paused and considered what it was and what it did. No, Applejack takes that back, because it isn't quite right. Of course Twilight is knowledgeable, and of course she isn't completely reckless. Not always. Sometimes, yes, but more times than not she considered what she did.

Rather Twilight sees magic and all of what it means and never turns away from it. At least, that was how it seems. Twilight had always asked how far it would go, and how much it would cost, but the answer had never seemed to faze her. It is beautiful to watch, she admits. It worries her. The sentiments coexist.

The self-lighting pipe glows blue and orange. She expels the smoke--her favorite blend, Longbottom, a gift from Twilight at Hearth’s Warming--and watches it dissipate as the winter air steals its warmth.

She imagines them out there, in some clearing in the Everfree perhaps. She dares not name what it is they do, because she isn’t sure what form it takes, and only guesses the outcome with certainty that leaves her feeling ill at ease. It is not good, what is coming. Not in that she can be happy about it or look forward to it. The dawn brings something sad, something that she cannot even begin to name her guesses about, for fear that naming it would make it happen.

But behind her, in the library, Fluttershy is yawning on a red couch, thinking about how soft and comfortable it is, how easy to sleep on. She considers sleeping even now as her tired eyes trace Pinkie’s path along the paneled floor. Back and forth, back and forth, like a coin lulling her into hypnotic sleep.

“Pinkie?”

Pinkie is there with the characteristic speed that not even anxiety can sap. “Yes?”

“Should I stay up?”

Pinkie cocks her head to one side. “Hm? You mean, until…”

Fluttershy nods and yawns again.

“Well… why wouldn’t you?” Pinkie asks. Fluttershy sees now that Pinkie, too, is as tired as she. In her own way, Pinkie is struggling against the pull of bed, keeping herself moving. She twitches and taps her hooves.

“I’m having a little difficulty here,” Fluttershy responds, managing a sort of lazy chuckle. “My eyes don’t want to stay open.”

“Hm. Well… why don’t you get up?”

Fluttershy looks, eyebrows arched, and lets the seeming insanity ponies who were not Pinkie to be moving about right now speak for itself.

“Oh. Well… you know what? Why don’t you close your eyes for a moment, and I’ll bring you something.”

Fluttershy hears the command and doesn't bother to question it, laying her head on the upholstery and passing out in minutes, free of her responsibility.

Pinkie finds coffee in Twilight’s kitchen and hums as she locates the little enchanted apparatus that grinds and brews the beans. She is glad for magic. Magic is a way of breaking all the rules without hurting anything or anypony. It’s like breaking the rules for good. Magic is important to Twilight, and what her friends love, Pinkie also comes to love and so she accepts it without deeper questioning as she accepts the whole world.

But while the coffee prepares itself, Pinkie notices the door leading down to the basement is ajar, and she pauses. Her song stops midbar and without resolution. The darkness in that small space calls to her--though she is not sure why. Ah, she feels it now. Pinkie sense. Hoof twitch, hoof twitch, ear twitch--she’s sure of it. Right, that obviously means to go down and see if Spike is alright. That is how she justifies her whim and gathers her courage.

She spares no look back; Fluttershy will be alright. She’s not likely to miss much if Pinkie is quick.

Carefully, carefully, Pinkie pushes the door open and cringes at how it creaks loudly. “Twilight needs to put some grease on those hinges,” she mutters and takes the steps two at a time, but does not hum. Humming seems a bit much, even for her. She will hum when she goes back for Fluttershy, up where it’s bright and warm.

The basement is lit by candelabras and is cold. Twilight has kept it clean… or rather, Spike has kept it clean with diligence at her command and occasionally despite her distracted neglect. In many ways, as he has grown older in Ponyville, it has become his home, his lair, his trove of personal effects. He is the one who has set the candles and has lit them all with the fire he has practiced creating in the sanctuary of the library’s former archives. Twilight doesn’t need her makeshift lab every day, after all.

Spike hears Pinkie walking. His reptilian ears catch the variations in each lightly echoing hoofstep, but he does not turn. He wishes to turn, but he does not.

Pinkie comes to him and he still does not look, even when he knows that it is her by the heavy aroma of baked goods mixed with the surprisingly light and flowery scent that is Pinkie. His senses are sharp, as he is quick to remind his friends. Strangely sharp. Even where another reptile falters, a dragon defies category.

“Hey, Pinkie.”

She stops right behind him. “Well, heya!” she replies, perhaps a bit too cheerfully, but Spike does not mind.

“Whatcha doing down here? Kinda cold,” he adds quietly. Before him, the candles illuminate Twilight’s letter. It is for him alone. He has read it so many times that it reverberates in his head and engraves itself on his heart with steel, and he shall never get it off.

“Well…” The truth is, she realizes, that she has no real logical motivations. Why? Rarity and Fluttershy are closer to Spike then she. Not to say that they don’t have fun, because they do. They have shared many moments in the sun. But she realizes now, as she stammers, that it is Rarity’s bosom in which he cries. “You’re down here all alone.”

“Well, I guess that is true.”

“It… I guess that’s reason enough!” She tries to finish strong, and he does nod in acknowledgement, as if it is indeed reason enough. Pinkie stands there awkwardly, her brain racing. For once, perhaps for the first time, she is without a clue as to what to do.

“I made some coffee,” she says, a bit hesitantly. Pinkie will not give up. Like an emperor in the Stalliongrad snow, she refuses to go back home and leave the prize unwon. “Thought you might want some. Um… Fluttershy is upstairs too,” she is quick to add, gaining a bit of momentum. “Rarity could come down too! We’re all up and being alone down here… I mean, aren’t you lonely?”

“Very,” Spike says.

“Well… only because you want to be!” Pinkie insists.

Spike finally turns around, eyes hard. But he pauses. It occurs to him where he is, and how she has come alone, and when he wants to tell her she doesn’t understand, it occurs to him that she too is missing family.

“Sit with me a moment?” he asks, and she does so without a moment’s hesitation.

“A letter?” she asks, gesturing.

He nods. “From Twilight,” Spike explains, and then folds it up quickly. “Do you miss your family, Pinkie? I mean, you can go home, but it’s not really the same anymore, is it?”

“No,” Pinkie replies quickly. “It’s not.”

“I mean, what do you do with that? How do you go back? Do you go back? She’s… I mean, she’s not my mom,” he says, and it is very quick, like a scraping of a claw on a blackboard. She flinches, and Spike realizes that he’s spoken loudly, and brings his voice down again. “She’s… I mean, she’s not really my sister. But whatever we were, it worked, you know? It works. I mean, it did a week ago. But now it’s… it’s all weird.”

“Why?”

Spike gives her a look.

But Pinkie shakes her head. “No, seriously! It’s not really that different. I mean, sure, Twilight gets wings. But you got over that, and life kept on chuggin’ along.”

“Yeah, but wings and a growth spurt are one thing. This… this is something different. It’s kind of bigger, Pinkie.”

She nods. “I know. But what I’m saying is that Twilight is still Twilight. You’re still Spike. You’re different every day…” She falters, her mind reaches out and grasps at thoughts. “But you’re always still Spike and Twilight. You’ll adjust to this.”

He sighs. “Maybe.”

But when Pinkie tugs at him, he stands and leaves the lonely sanctuary behind. The smell of coffee is in the air. Twilight is still absent, and the strangeness of that smell without her presence makes him smile despite himself. That won’t change, at least. She’ll be wanting her coffee as strong as magic and agriculture can make it, same as always.

And as Pinkie is pouring him a cup and humming once more, Luna is staring out at the stars and wondering at how the constellations have shifted since she was imprisoned. They have shifted since the days when she was smaller and younger, born out of the primordial singing fires of Creation itself, blazing glory onto a humble new world. She watched the stars then as she does now, with less sorrow and with just as much anxiety. The possibility of possibilities, that there might be something or may not be, it wounds her even now as she refuses to look at the horizon where the sun will be rising soon.

Of course, it has to happen. The sun cannot rule forever; the night must pass. The sun will come up, and Luna knows that she will lose her strength and collapse in tears and pleas. She knows they will be useless, and that she will burn with shame and not care until later, when she is back in Canterlot in the safety of her own chambers.

Luna will not look because she does not think she can, not without trying to intervene. She cannot, she knows this. Or, rather, she must not. Because she can intervene, of course. Luna is Songborne and powerful the same as her sister Celestia is. Celestia won their duel long ago, but Luna won many of their sparring bouts before that fateful night. She knows, in her heart of hearts, that she can break any barrier a distracted and distressed Celestia could put up to stop her--and she knows very well that Celestia is also thinking these thoughts, perhaps even hoping her sister will be unable to bear it and break the law of the Nature of Things.

But Luna has learned her lesson. She will not warp the world around her whims again. She wishes to. She wishes to take Twilight out of her sister’s grasp and take her far, far away.

Luna does not want to lose anything anymore. The years have taken too much. Far, far too much. They took the stars of her childhood and turned them into new patterns that she recognizes but does not yet love as she should.

A lonely princess curses the nature of her thousand year sleep.

Down at the front door, Applejack has not yet finished the bowl. She watches the smoke rise, and replays the events of the week.

Twilight was called away by letter. Urgent business. Strange, but not distressing. It happens now and then. She is an important pony, after all. Usually, her friends are also called, but not always. Celestia tried not to pull Applejack from her farm during harvest and planting.

But Twilight had stayed away for days with no word. Her friends had met, staring into their cups, all feeling a foreboding that seemed out of place in the festive air between Hearth’s Warming and New Years. The last days of the year had been passing them by, and Twilight had been nowhere to be found. Spike had received no letter either, and Rarity had lovingly bullied him into sleeping on her couch. None of them wanted him to be alone.

And they’d waited and waited, and finally Spike had burst into Rarity’s bedroom sobbing and the story had come bubbling out. Twilight had to do something. Something important. Something that Celestia needed her to do, and one of them might not come back.

Nothing more. Applejack had wondered about that letter. She figures Spike knew what was up, but she won't press him. He said his bit, she figures, and puffs again. It simply won’t do to bother the poor kid any more about it if he don’t want to elaborate, after all.

But she still has her suspicions. Twilight had been specific about this night being the night “It” would happen.

Applejack thinks that the Twilight who comes back may not be their Twilight, but some greater, brighter, more distant Twilight. The kind that sits on thrones and moves suns.

Applejack removes the churchwarden from her mouth after a long breath and blows shaky smoke rings with a tiny smile. Little things are easier to focus on, and she appreciates their simplicity.

In Twilight's room, Rarity is also appreciating the merits of simple things.

Rarity’s simplicity comes in the form of tea, her own private practice of meditation, valid as Applejack’s, if slightly less aromatic. She considered coffee, but Twilight’s blends were all too dark for her tastes and so she had been pleased with the black tea she’d found.

A book hangs before her, but she pays it little mind except to find the ironies of life ridiculous as always. To the Stern God of the Sea, a gripping and voluminous melodrama. Who would choose such a thing, surrounded as she was by the suffocating air?

The answer was, of course, that it had been lying there on her table and she’d been putting it away when Applejack had come to collect them and she’d realized how late the hour had gotten and simply lost track of what she was doing.

She does not read the words on the page. She has already read this story many times, of course, and always loves its mix of the vulgar and the noble, but she cannot bring herself to indulge. Her brain will not focus. Her eyes drift.

Rainbow is their goal. The late hour drives Rarity to distraction, and she loses track of time, but her eyes never lose track of her lover sprawled out on Twilight’s starry bed.

It’s strange, she admits, admiring Rainbow in another mare’s bedroom. But the hour is late, and the circumstances extraordinary, and so Rarity decides that it isn't so bad. The view is nice. If nothing else, it keeps her awake. It is important that she stay awake. If Twilight is to come with the morning, Rarity simply must be there to greet her, come glory or simply a strong urge for coffee. It is all the same to her.

"Awake?" she asks quietly, unsure as to why. But the air is still, and she likes that she has broken its monotony with more than just the aroma of tea and the glow of her magic.

"How could I sleep with Twilight in trouble?" Rainbow speaks. Her back is to the window. Rarity runs her dressmaker's eyes over every feather she sees, admiring them, thinking how strange it is to be awake so late with nothing to work on.

"We don't know that, dear."

"Uh, did you not hear that part about not coming back?"

"I do," she says quietly, setting her book aside. "But I also know that Twilght can handle herself. She has the princess with her, remember?"

"What are they even doing?" Rainbow continues. There's no fire or frustration in her voice to Rarity's ear. She is exhausted. They are all exhausted, and with that thought comes another, and Rarity wonders if the others have managed to stay awake.

"We don't know," she admits, "but that doesn't mean that they are helpless without us. It's quite too late, anyhow. Whatever comes, we must be prepared for it. Twilight will need us awake, if only long enough to give her what comfort we can."

"Gonna be useless like this," Rainbow mutters. "We coulda just woken up early."

"Yes, we could have. But you said you couldn't sleep."

Rainbow grumbles.

"I heard that," Rarity says, smiling. "Come now, love, there's not much time left to be in suspense... Twilight will be back soon."

"She better."

"She will," Rarity says, a bit too forefully. She leaves her book on the chair and stretches. The bed does look comfortable... very comfortable. She could not sleep at midnight, but that was hours ago, and now her body has begun to revolt. All it takes is a look at a reclining Rainbow and her imagination--inhibitions burned away in the moonlight--run wild with the remembered sensations of warmth and comfort of a thousand nights.

"I am rather cold..."

"Hm?"

"Nothing," she says quietly. Twilight won't mind, really. It's not like they plan to go gallavanting in their friend's bed. Yes, it is quite alright. She wanders over and crawls in behind Rainbow.

"Thought I was big spoon," Dash grumbles.

"You are. Now turn over."

There is a chuckle, and the pegasus complies. Rarity revels in the warmth, just as her imagination had promised, and in the feel of Rainbow's breath on her neck and shoulder. She sighs.

"I love you, Rainbow," Rarity says, more quietly than before. "Are you sleepy?"

"Not as much as I should be."

"Becuase I'm going to lose consciousness in about three minutes if I don't move."

"I... are you asking me to make you move?"

Rarity snorts. "No, Dash, I am certainly not. I know you haven't gone so far into the land of dreams as to forget where you are. I would like to sleep. Don't fall asleep, if you could be so kind? Just keep me warm. I'm freezing." She snuggles closer, smiling and closing her eyes. "It sneaks up on you, doesn't it?"

Rarity yawns, and Rainbow Dash holds her, nuzzling into her shoulder.

Rainbow considers talking, but figures that her girlfriend could use some shut eye. Maybe. If nothing else, Rainbow doesn't really feel inclined to wake her, so the point is moot. Her own mind wanders aimlessly. It doesn't sit right, leaving Twilight to face something big all by herself. Every other challenge she's faced with her friends. They do things together.

Applejack, below her, is thinking much the same thing. How they're a unit, a family. It doesn't sit right with an Apple, letting a family member go off to face something life-changing on their own.

But, as the enchantment tamps the tobacco down slightly and relights it, Applejack considers that that's the reason she stays up, facing the east, waiting for the sun. Twilight's isolation is short, but life is longer.

And while this is happening, Twilight herself is standing in a clearing in the Everfree while her life is falling apart before her very eyes.

"I can't do it," she breathes. "I can't, Celestia."

"You must."

"I don't have to do anything," she shoots back. Politeness is out the window. It is late, and she is tired, and she has run out of options and time. Twilight feels foolish, like an investor who has had the rug pulled out from underneath her and thrown out into the wet streets.

"Nothing gold can stay, Twilight," Celestia murmurs. She is old, old as the hills and perhaps a little older. Time goes slowly for her, but it does not stop. She sighs, and the sigh echoes as if it has built for years and years. Perhaps it has. "Twilight, you have to take it."

Twilight stares at the crown that hangs in midair between them.

"But... but you'll..."

"Die," she says, hard as iron. "I'm going to die, Twilight."

"But you can't. You won't. Dying isn't something you do. It's impossible."

Celestia locks eyes with her. Twilight erects walls and builds castles out of sand and her Princess, her mentor, her teacher, is a wave that comes and annihilates them without a single shred of mercy. She cannot be merciful. She must not. Twilight is unwilling, like impure iron. She cannot let Twilight hope. Selfishly, but also unselfishly, because Twilight should do it because she realizes the truth.

"But... what will I do?"

Celestia sighs again. "Twilight... Twilight, look at me."

Twilight does so. She has no more tears. She has wasted them all this week, leading up to this last night of the year. Her cheeks are matted even now, sprinkled with dried salt deposits. She knows--Celestia knows it and Twilight knows it and there is no place to hide for the first time in Twilight's life--she knows that there is no way around it. She has a choice, but she will only pick the option that Celestia wants her to. It's just a matter of time. The endgame is already begun.

"Twilight," Celestia begins, each word like a brick in a high wall, "I am not a god. I am very, very old. I am very tired. My time is coming, and even if we fly home together tonight, it will still come. If I do not give this to you, then it will vanish forever. The sun will find its equilibrium, yes. But the moon will still be in the orbitit has been. There will be chaos. Ponies would not be destroyed, but we know how they overreact."

"End of the world," Twilight says and sniffles. "I can't just... wait?"

"Something like that. And no, you cannot. Would waiting really help? If I let the moment pass now, one of us or both of us will let it pass again, and again, and again."

"I'm scared," Twilight admits. "It's not right. It's so... it's so bad, Celestia. I'm like... I'm like the adult who has to grow up while the children stay behind and I move on and my friends just... How am I supposed to go back? What do we do? How do I look at them again?"

"Twilight, don't you love them?"

She was wrong; the tears do come again. "Of course I do! I'm going to kill you, and I can't go back to them after that!"

"You're not killing me," Celestia says, her voice even.

Twilight does not answer.

"Twilight. May I tell you a story?"

Twilight nods.

"I was disconsolate when my sister Aurora died. Did you know that? It was a long, long time ago, closer to the beginning of things. We have the gift of life, Alicorns. We create it. She gave her body to create the race of Pegasi, as I've told you. And it was good! But I was completely shut off from the world. I cried for a week straight, lying around. Luna had to bring me food and beg me to eat. She had been the mare I had always wanted to call mother."

Twilight's ears drooped. "Oh..."

"Twilight, she was at peace. She wanted to leave. Not because she didn't love me. But because it was time. There was a greater dawn, a new day, and before it came she felt that she needed to help it come. Does that make sense?"

"No."

"I thought it might not. What I'm trying to say... Twilight. Twilight, I love you. We have been many things. Teacher and student. Friends. I watched you grow into a beautiful young mare."

"But you can't watch me get any older?"

"No, I can't, Twilight. I wish to. I wish to with all of my heart. But the sun has to set."

Twilight looks down at the ground, and there is a long silence.

"How will I go back?" She asks. "I feel like... like if I take this, it'll be too much. They were so willing to treat me like royalty, Celestia. I hated it. I felt like we were being forced apart. It's not fair."

"And life isn't. But tell me, Twilight. Do you love your friends?"

"Of course!" she says, her eyes blazing as she looks up.

"What's to stop you? I, too, have friends, Twilight. I have had many, many friends. Including you. Age and time have not conquered me, nor have they ruined my love. They will only destroy yours if you let them. Love is not something that breaks with time. Affection wanes, but love may not until it is set down..." Celestia pauses. She feels the ground shift beneath the conversation. She feels the momentum shifting, the slow and inexorable march of Twilight's love working out her teacher's salvation in fear and trembling. She knew it would come to this. But now the time is almost upon her, and she is afraid.

But she continues because her eyes are locked with Twilight's and she mustn't look away. "Twilight, love is patient. Love is kind. It keeps no record of wrongs, because it forgives a multitude of them. It waits and it watches, it is very painful, and it hurts to hold. If you love your friends, then you will not let go at all, no matter how much it seems like a good idea, like the distance is too great, like it's an inconvience. Inconveience is a word ponies use to excuse themselves before they murder, Twilight." Celestia takes a deep breath. "So don't do it. Be the Twilight I'm proud of, the one I love very, very much."

Twilight slumps. She is defeated now. Celestia is only mopping up.

"I wish the world were different," Twilight says.

"As do I. I often wish that. I would not ask you to do this in a thousand lifetimes if I did not think it were the only way."

"Duty?" Twilight asks, giving her a half smile. "My favorite word."

"No. Love, Twilight. I've lived too long as Princess to let them go. And you will too if you wish."

"I don't want to outlive them all."

"Then don't," Celestia says, playing her last card, gesturing widely to reveal an empty hoof. "Then live until you, too, know it is time for the sun to set, and give your crown to the student you love, who comes to you in the small of the night when you are weary and afraid. Do as I have done. Do or do not."

"So it just... continues?"

Celestia seems lost. "Do or do not, either way, regret," she says to herself. "What lies beyond the great gulf of death is hidden even from me."

Twilight is quiet.

"Please," Celestia finishes. She is back. "Please, Twilight, as you love me, you will not let me hurt my little ponies. I love them. Love them as I love them."

It takes Twilight thirty more minutes to take the crown. Thirty minutes of complete silence.

Applejack sees the sun first. Inside, Pinkie and Fluttershy and Spike share coffee on the couch. Pinkie has woken the lovebirds and roused them from their nest with caffeine and the promise of some companionship.

Applejack sees the light coming as she is emptying the Longbottom's ashes from the churchwarden, and she smiles, shading her eyes.

She does not call her friends right away. Not yet. She will in a moment. Just a moment more.

But first, she only watches, knowing that Twilight is over that way, and that this sun is different from the old sun in a way she cannot describe; this dawn is a new dawn.

Applejack wonders if it isn't a greater dawn, after all. At the very least, it's good enough for her. Because Twilight is good enough, with or without uncertainty. It's enough for right now.

She pokes her head in the door, and smiles at the crowded friends.

"Sun's up, y'all. Twilight's comin' home."

Author's Notes:

This is a Churchwarden. I have a Michellin and Thomas one. I thought of mine.

I know it's weird.

Thanks.