Silk Pants was a stallion who felt that he wanted little in life. He wanted wealth for his skill and good planning, and this he had in spades. The new capital of Canterlot was exploding in size, and for each stone laid by his company, he took his share. The Royal Treasury even paid for his own office, sitting prominently at the city’s center.

Personal wealth aside, there was just one, tiny request he had of reality: He drew great pleasure from his meals, and wished to enjoy them in peace.

So it was with no small annoyance that the wide, white unicorn looked up from his meal – blue tulips on buttered rye – as a pounding emerged from his door. The handle jiggled, locked from his own side against casual visitors. He was a very important pony, who required appointments from his guests.

The latch jiggled again, followed by more knocks on the door. Silk Pants groaned and took another bite from his sandwich, hoping the unknown solicitor would move on.

No such luck. The rattling and knocking continued at its urgent pace.

Sighing, Silk Pants rose from his desk and waddled to the door. He really should have kept himself on the second floor, with a secretary here to screen such incidents. Secretaries cost so much money, though…

With a blue glow of his horn, the lock released. “You may open it,” he rumbled, pouring as much disapproval into his voice as he could.

The door snapped open in an instant, revealing a bookish unicorn with a grey coat and glasses. He made to leap inside, but Silk Pants’ considerable bulk was blocking the entrance.

The newcomer was sweating and breathing heavily. He looked at the capitalist, fear wild in his eyes. “Let me in! Please! They’re right behind me!”

“Who?” Silk Pants demanded, casting his gaze outwards. No immediate assailant was in sight, though there did seem to be a ruckus across the square.

“The mob,” the grey-coat gasped. Silk Pants looked again – yes, the ruckus did seem to be moving closer, with the odd pitchfork poking out of it. Where citizens of the mountain capital had found pitchforks, he had no idea.

“The guard station is literally right next door,” Silk Pants noted drolly. He would know, he was still owed money for its construction.

“They won’t help me!” The newcomer’s voice was turning to a shriek in panic. “Please, these maniacs have been running me halfway across the city and I can’t…”

Silk Pants was nopony’s fool. “And why is that?” He rumbled, coolly noting the mob drawing closer.

“I-I…” the grey-coat took a sharp breath in and out, closing his eyes for the confession. “I’m a Lunar.”

“Oh, you nitwit!” Silk Pants snarled, bits of tulip flying from his mouth. “You’re the ‘maniac,’ here!”

“Please, they’ll hang me if they–”

“Just get inside!” Silk Pants roared, stepping aside to let the other through. The newcomer needed no second bidding and, with the mob’s forerunners just twenty meters off, he slammed the door shut.

Grumbling and huffing, Silk Pants clicked the latch-lock shut and pushed in the bolt. He turned, fixing the other with a glare. The tweedy grey unicorn was leaning heavily against the desk, breathing rapidly.

“No time for rest now,” his host grunted. “There’s a big window in the back room. Take my desk and the cabinets back there and block it as best as you can.”

You bloody idiot, Silk Pants mentally added as the intellectual snapped to obey. He winced at the sounds that came forth – his good cabinets, filled with his good china, scratching painfully against his good floor to cover the soon-to-be-broken window.

And then the next round of knocks came – heavier and somehow angrier than the first.

“Appointments only!” He shouted through the door.

It was a deep, angry voice that came in response. “Sir, the pony you let in is a traitor! He’s a Lunar, a traitor to Princess Celestia. We’ll be taking him off your hooves.”

Silk Pants let loose his best, most aristocratic harrumph. “No, sir, you will not.”

There was much indistinct yelling and murmuring on the other side, but a second voice emerged at the doorway. This one, he recognized – the tired, doughty voice of Sergeant Sunrise, the officer who ran the guard post next door.

“Silk,” he groaned, lacking the imposing voice guards are supposed to have. “Either throw him out or let us in. If you don’t, we’re coming in.”

“You are welcome to try,” Silk Pants huffed, and braced his bulk against the door.

They twisted his nice, gold door latch until it snapped, then began pounding in earnest. When that gained no reaction, a few of them began bucking at the door, while others began shouting for a battering ram. The wood groaned and cracked, but was holding up with his support.

The bucking grew half-hearted as its futility became clear. He could hear rocks come through the back window, and pegasi scraping against the barred windows of the upper floors.

Frustrated and furious, the first voice sailed through the door again. “We know who you are, rich boy! There won’t be any hiding after this. We’ll search for you if we need to!”

Silk Pants drew in a deep breath, his pride welling up within him. A threat? Pah! Didn’t they know his grandsire fought in the war?

“A search will not be necessary,” he rumbled back, slow and loud. “I work normal business hours during weekdays, and on the second Saturday of every month until noon. You may find me here at those times, though I insist that you make an appointment first!”

“That was my third win in a row, Princess.” The voice was friendly and light, though gently teasing. “You have to start adapting.”

Two sets of hooves clicked down the hallway at a steady stroll. One was Celestia’s, though it was a rare day that the other needed introduction. Those belonged to Prime Minister Rooke, and one could hardly mistake her for anypony else. She was nearly as tall as her princess, and even more distinctively had a sleek, black coat and thin glasses. She could look quite regal when she chose, though her love of jokes and puns often ruined the effect.

Princess Celestia sniffed at the jibe, though was unable to contain a smile. The weekdays were filled with the endless labor of governance, and their little Saturday chess games worked wonders for her morale. That Rooke had gotten the better of her the last few times… honestly, that just made it more interesting.

Hm. ‘Interesting.’

Celestia bit a lip, casting a lingering glance at her second. To be even more honest… well, there were a lot of things she found interesting about Rooke. But there could be time for that later.

Instead, she warmed to the subject of chess. “Running your knights forward is a fool’s errand,” Celestia said, pausing a moment to nod and smile at a pair of blue-armored guards.

One of the Lunar Guards grinned back broadly, receiving a pointed look from his fellow as the pair bowed. It was odd to consider, but with fifty-odd years now passed, Luna’s former guards had become Celestia’s most loyal.

Luna.

Her smile grew pained, and Celestia forced back the tide of memories. The past was gone. Luna was gone, and there wasn’t any sense thinking about her.

Rooke’s eyes were closed, mouth smirking as she scored another one on her liege. “‘Fool’s errand,’ and ‘dynamic strategy’ are divided only by their success. Given the results, I’d say my battle plan falls under the latter.”

She glanced to Celestia, and the smile vanished. To a stranger, the Princess was as serene as ever. Rooke was no stranger.

“Princess? Are you–”

“Fine,” Celestia said, favoring her friend with an easy lie. “Just wondering what to expect. It’s not often the courts ask me to get involved with a case.”

Rooke shrugged. It was true – Celestia wrote the laws, but left their enforcement to the courts and guards. The noble-born captains and justices tended to enjoy their little empire, and tried not to get her involved. The request that she judge a case meant things had gotten complicated.

Still, Rooke was nothing if not prepared. She glanced to the side as they entered the castle’s legal wing, leaning close to say it softly. “Here’s the short version. Do you know Silk Pants?”

Now Celestia shrugged. She knew hundreds of names, but, “No.”

“He’s not a noble, but he’s richer than most of them,” Rooke continued. “He’s being charged with obstruction of justice and he’s counter-suing, accusing the guards of wrongdoing. It’s messy. It’s pretty clear both sides have been slinging bribes and threats back and forth, and the chief justice finally deferred it to you.”

“So this ‘Silk Pants’ is trying to buy his way out of trouble?” Celestia asked stiffly. If so, this would be a short trial.

Rooke tilted her head. “Well, yes. And a lot of captains and judges are on the other side, trying to buy him into it. See, he was arrested for helping a fugitive escape. But the fugitive wasn’t ‘wanted,’ per se. He was a Lunar, and you know how tricky that makes things.”

Before the doors of the great courtroom, they had to part ways. Rooke would take her own place in a box seat, while Celestia would ascend a few flights of stairs to enter her balcony. Above even the judge’s bench, she would hear the arguments, review the case, and decide how it would end. A bit of an ostentatious way to do things, but maybe that was for the best.

The guards at the stairwell saluted, both offering warm smiles as she greeted them by name. Celestia did not match their faces as she walked past, her own set in a thoughtful frown.

Lunars. Yes, that did make things “tricky.”

They’d be harmless, almost funny, if not for the consternation they caused. Ponies these days heard ‘Lunar’ and assumed the worst. Cultists in black robes, sacrificing virgins to Nightmare Moon.

The modern Lunar couldn’t be further from that image. Nightmare Moon’s religion, such as it was, was dead and gone. These ponies were intellectuals – students and professors who studied the Civil War and noted large gaps in the historical records. They thought it was evidence of conspiracy. Evidence that Celestia had somehow covered up the facts of the time.

They were wrong, and she knew better than anypony. Records were lost not because of some cover-up, but because of fire and war. But they were also harmless. They would have their little noontime protests before the castle, always departing in time for their afternoon classes.

Far more disturbing had been the tendency of others to make violence against them. The fact that they did so in Celestia’s name made it all the worse. She’d ordered the guards to keep the peace, but incidents kept happening.

She allowed herself one quiet sigh before stepping out onto her balcony, smiling gently. Ponies one and all rose from their seats and bowed. Some placed their hoof on their chest and drew a circle – a queer little gesture to indicate their devotion, with the “sun” placed over their heart. Celestia thought little of it.

She also thought little of the defendant, though in a very different way. The white unicorn was very fat, with sweaty, stringy blue hair and drooping moustache. Velvet pants wrapped around his back half, large enough that Celestia fancied she could use them as bed sheets. He wore a fancy blue coat above it, highlighted with a sun-shaped lapel pin.

When Celestia seated herself, so did the crowd. And they would all be seated a good while longer as she reviewed the transcript from earlier hearings. Almost a hundred sheets of paper were stacked at her podium, and she set to it as quick as she could. Another odd tradition – the notes could not leave the court before its conclusion, but she could hardly judge fairly without reviewing them first.

After the first hour of study – the ponies silent beneath her – Celestia mentally vowed that this was one tradition that would die soon. It worked well enough in earlier days, but the law had grown vastly more complicated since.

Things were much as Rooke had summarized. Silk Pants had shielded a Lunar from a mob, and she could hardly take umbrage with him over that. That he helped the Lunar escape guard ponies was another matter entirely.

By the end of the second hour, she was done reading. Celestia looked up, seeing the expectant gazes still upon her. Time to stop wasting their time.

“Are you a Lunar, Silk Pants?” Might as well get the obvious question out of the way first.

“No,” the wide unicorn answered. “Nor do I sympathize with them.”

Celestia gave him only her third-most disapproving glance. “Please explain, then, why you denied Canterlot guards their quarry.”

His head was up, looking back at her with defiant pride. She might need to upgrade to her second-most disapproving look.

“Because I thought it would place the young fool in deathly danger.”

“Do go on,” Celestia said drolly.

“Happily,” he sniffed, earning Celestia’s first-strongest glare. “The guards of my area were aiding the mob as they broke my windows and battered my door. With vandalism going on around them, they threatened me with arrest if I did not let these hooligans into my property. It was a lynch mob, my Princess, and I would have none of it. With rather strong evidence that I could not trust the Guard, I refused to surrender him. When the guards came the next day with spears and warrants, I stalled them so the lad could escape out the back window.”

Celestia eased back her glare, face growing inquisitive. “Why not surrender him then? If it was his safety from mob justice you were concerned for, you could hardly do better than the Guard offices.”

“The prisons?” Silk Pants noted, one eyebrow raised.

There were a few whispers in the crowd against his cheekiness, but Celestia had to hide a smile. It was good to be a little casual with her subjects, even here.

Still, her response was frosty. “The prisons, yes. Where he would be safe and cared for until he is duly tried before a judge.”

“Your Highness, a Lunar before a royal judge…” Silk Pants stoked his weak moustache a moment before finishing. “Well, I would not invest in his chances. Even cheaply.”

“Are you implying this court is corrupt?” Celestia asked, steel in her voice.

“This court? No. The limits of your wisdom – if they exist – have yet to be found.”

Celestia sighed, annoyed at the flattery, as he finished. “But your proxies, your justices? In this matter they are utterly corrupt.”

At that, a dozen ponies in guard outfits and justice robes rose and began shouting him down. Silk Pants shouted back readily, pounding a heavy hoof on his box’s rail. His defense lawyers joined him, as did a pegasus in the public seats.

The court guards did their job, and the angry parties remained separate. Still, it would take several minutes for the screaming match to die down.

Hopefully it would be time enough. Celestia made a discreet signal with her hoof, and Rooke’s sharp eyes caught it. The black unicorn excused herself, quietly left the room, and a minute later had come up the steps to Celestia’s balcony.

“Is it true?” Celestia asked tersely.

Rooke gave a little chuckle. “No. I think we found the limits of your wisdom when you sacrificed your queen to save a bishop last Saturday.”

“About how the courts handle Lunars, dear,” Celestia growled in a voice that, in no uncertain terms, indicated the time for jokes was over.

Taking the cue, her friend dropped the smile and leaned in. “It’s… yes, it’s probably true. If a known Lunar gets tried for anything from jaywalking to cloud poaching, they’re likely to be found guilty regardless of the evidence.”

“Do we not have oversight for the courts?” Celestia asked. “No, don’t tell me, because I know we do. I ordered it myself. It’s the Lunar Guard, and I am very curious why they haven’t done anything about it.”

“They seem to be turning a blind eye.” Rooke shrugged. “They don’t have much fellowship with the Lunars.”

“Aside from the name, you mean?” Celestia said acidly.

Sensing the mood sour even further, Rooke held out what she hoped was a placating hoof. “Princess, the Lunar Guard is very loyal to you. From day one, they learn about how you pardoned their grandsires when the rest of the country wanted them all dead. They see a bunch of smart-mouth students saying bad things about you, they don’t feel much sympathy.”

“Well, I’m glad they love me,” Celestia huffed. “Now if only they loved my laws as well.”

A thought crossed her mind, and she sent a pointed glance to her friend. “If you know all this, why haven’t you done anything? Or told me?”

“I’ve… been investigating.” Rooke’s reply was cautious. “I need more evidence before I can act.”

“I don’t,” Celestia said meaningfully, turning back to the crowd below. She stood patiently, gathering her thoughts, imperiously watching the argument.

Within a minute, ponies began to notice her and the silence began. Individuals fell quiet, then warned those around them to do the same. No pony wanted to be the one who made Princess Celestia wait.

When the last murmur died, Celestia resumed the court as if nothing happened. She leaned over the rail, fixing Silk Pants with a fresh, imperial glare.

“A further question, Silk Pants: Why?”

That seemed to take him off guard. His jowls wobbled as he chewed his tongue, eyes to the side. “‘Why?’”

“Why.” Celestia confirmed it with a nod. “According to the transcripts, you are very close to being ruined. Had you accepted the first court’s ruling, you would have been slapped on the hoof and sent on your way. Instead you fought it. You have spent massive sums of money, and gained a reputation as a sympathizer to the Lunars. Your business has suffered, and you have received many threats to your life. Why take it this far?”

“Because my grandsire fell in Dame Blueblood’s stand,” he rumbled proudly.

What does that have to do with anything? Before Celestia could voice her curiosity, Silk Pants went on with aplomb. “The Pants do not back down from a fight. I find the views of the Lunars reprehensible, but I will not allow one to be beaten or murdered while I might act to prevent it. As to the legal troubles, I again acted as my conscience bid me. My grandsire stood for your laws, and I proudly do so again. Your laws, wise and just, say that a pony may speak his mind freely. I will not meekly accept the ruling of petty, little judges who think they can declare otherwise.”

Celestia kept glaring, musing her next words. She… didn’t quite like that. He made it sound like it was about them being ‘her’ laws. It wasn’t. The laws weren’t made for her own sake, to be enforced because they were her will. They were supposed to be just. She earnestly hoped they were.

“And if my law did not protect this Lunar…?” she asked, an unspoken question in the air.

“My morals would still bid me defend him,” Silk Pants answered, a bit hesitantly. He couldn’t know if this answer was the right one. “I… this would have been murder, Your Highness. To allow it would have shamed my pants.”

The princess almost vanished from sight as she drew back a pace, away from the railing. She didn’t want ponies to see the smile that came to her.

Yes. That was right.

The laws aren’t for me. They’re for you all. Especially you, you glorious tub of goo.

Still, she had far more to do now than when she woke up this morning. Time to bring the session to a close.

Her voice was loud as she returned to the rail, speaking to the crowd. “Given all evidence seen in this and previous sessions, I am very comfortable in dropping the charges against Silk Pants.”

Murmuring began, but silenced as she continued. “I welcome infractions such as these, done to protect ponies from unjust action by those trusted with royal justice. Ponies do not exist to serve the law. The law exists to serve you all.”

The words sparked an immediate, frenzied applause from the public seats. The ponies there whistled and cheered, thrilled that such a statement had come from the highest authority.

This time, Celestia did let herself smile a little before them. She was doubtless setting herself up for many headaches down the road, but this was how it should be. Justice held higher than legality. Goodness held higher than obedience.

Hopefully, it would stick.

No, it would stick. By her own hoof if need be.

Beneath her, the professionals’ response was more muted. A few of the barristers were grumbling to each other with sour looks. Beside her, Celestia could see Rooke massaging her temples. Silk Pants was simply standing with what he fancied was great dignity, too proud to celebrate his victory.

Speaking of which… “However, Silk Pants, you shall be a guest of the castle until further notice.”

That didn’t get the attention of the happy crowds, but it certainly got his. “Royal agents will investigate the death threats you have received,” Celestia continued. “Once they are certain you are in no danger, you will be released.”

“But my business–” he began.

“Is not my concern,” Celestia cut him off, voice and face growing stern. “And it will not save you if a threat proves real. This is for your own good.”

Silk Pants looked sour, almost glaring back up at her. “I am not afraid.”

“And when you are released, you will have no cause to be.” Celestia’s words were prim. Before he could argue further, she announced the end. “We are done.”

That was that. The public crowd and defense lawyers were in good cheer as they exited, gossiping and sending warm looks to where she sat. Silk Pants slouched out with his guard escort, grumbling under his breath.

So were some of the justices and guard officers. Celestia smiled again, this time a very thin one. Let them grumble! Their word wasn’t law. Her’s was.

“Wow,” a pretty voice came from the side.

Next to her, Rooke was shaking her head, disbelieving smile on her face. She had such a nice smile…

When it was a happy smile, anyway. This one wasn’t. “Princess… what are you expecting now? You just effectively said that all your laws are one big grey area.”

“Is that a bad thing? Ponies shouldn’t be afraid to act on their conscience.” Celestia grinned cheekily, still aglow with self-certainty. Yes, this was the most certain she’s felt about anything in a long time.

Rooke was far less enthusiastic. “It was judges and guards ‘acting on their conscience’ that started this whole mess.”

“Then I will judge all the Lunar trials from here on,” Celestia shot back. “And the same for anypony else who needs me.”

“Hey, listen to yourself.” Rooke smiled weakly, hooves akimbo. “What, are you going to play judge for every pony with a sob story?”

“Is that so bad?” Celestia said, raising her nose. “Am I too great to be approached? Too high to bother with my own subjects? Should I not do everything I can to ensure fairness for all of them, one at a time if need be?”

Rooke pushed up her glasses, frowning to the side. “Princess, forgive me for saying so, but you already have a full-time job ruling the nation. You already run a Sun Court every Friday, and that fills up quickly as it is. Where are you going to find time to judge more cases?”

“We’ll extend the Sun Court through the evening hours,” Celestia replied deftly. “And carry it into Saturday if need be.”

Rooke bit a lip. “You have tea with the Caesars Friday evenings.”

Celestia’s sniffed. “I think the justice of my nation is more important than tea parties.”

“…And literally every government office is closed on Saturdays,” Rooke finished without a missed beat.

“Excellent. Then those too busy during the week can attend.” Celestia rebounded with a smile.

“And what about our chess matches?”

“Oh, Rooke.” Celestia gave a gentle laugh and settled a wing on her friend’s shoulder. “The Saturday Court will just be the overflow. Whatever didn’t get done the day before. There’ll be plenty of time for my favorite game, with my best friend.”

Puckishly, she nipped Rooke on the ear, to the same effect as always. The prime minister froze, blushed, and stammered, heading off further argument as Celestia strode away.

Celestia did make it to chess that Saturday, but it wasn’t the same.

“Princess?”

“Hm?”

Rooke glanced pensively between the board and Celestia. “You just moved your king into checkmate.”

“Oh.” Celestia looked down to the chessboard, then shrugged. “Oh well. No take-backs.”

A look to the clock confirmed Rooke’s suspicions – the game had taken all of fifteen minutes. Celestia’s mind was far and away in another place.

Rooke would bet her right hoof she knew where. “How’d the Sun Court go?”

The question was met with silence, which surprised her. The prime minister had rather guessed Celestia would be annoyed after a full day with the peasants. Her pronouncement meant that every Jill Pegasus and Joe Earth Pony would be crowding her court, bringing their little grievances in. That she was patient went without saying, but Rooke had figured a few days of dealing with the rabble would wear even Celestia down.

Instead she looked… sad. Disappointed, even. Like a thing long-expected had been denied. Celestia’s large eyes had narrowed, and dimples creased as her face frowned.

The eyes closed the rest of the way, and the princess sighed. “Not good, Rooke.”

“Well, it was only once,” Rooke replied with cheer, a bit too much hope in her voice.

The quiet response killed her smile. “It won’t only be once.”

Celestia opened her eyes and looked at Rooke, mouth still turned in that thoughtful frown. The friendliness the two so readily shared was gone from those eyes, replaced with a vague, distant look.

“I should have done this years ago,” she said, bitterness entering her voice. “Enough with the silly, neatly-choreographed Sun Court, where I am flattered and pampered by my nobles. This was the real Equestria, Rooke. I talked to a Lunar who was beaten in prison. And not just the Lunars have trouble. Earth Pony farmers, saying pegasi guards steal the clouds if a ‘rain tax’ is not paid. Commoners being bullied out of officer academies, sometimes violently. And that was just what I heard today! Rooke, my ponies are being harmed by my own officials. It won’t go on. I won’t have these petty cliques ruin my nation.”

“Princess…” Rooke was fighting against a humored smile that threatened to breach her face. “Those are minor incidents! A little graft and hazing doesn’t ‘ruin your nation.’ These things happen.”

That was the wrong answer. Celestia’s distant look hardened to a glare in an instant, fixed directly on her chess partner. It wasn’t an angry glare – near as Rooke could tell, Celestia didn’t get angry. Instead this was an imperious, aloof sort of glare. The look she gave when, in her centuries-old wisdom, she found you sorely wanting.

It hurt, more than Rooke would care to admit. But she was right! Crime happened. It simply happened.

“Well it shouldn’t,” Celestia said, in a voice that made it clear she would damn well do something about it.

“A-alright.” Rooke nodded, mind racing. Damage control time, Rooke. “We’ll set up an oversight committee. An, ah, ‘ethics committee’ if you will. Something to reign in these… ‘inadequacies’ in the system.”

“No.”

Celestia would damn well do something, and she knew exactly what.

The princess went on, stern, half-talking to herself. “I already have oversight offices, and they’ve become part of the problem. This won’t be solved by grabbing a fresh batch of Canterlot bureaucrats and letting them lord over the others.”

“Just like with the Lunars.” Celestia was nodding to herself now, certain in her course. “All these crimes committed by my own officials, I’ll see to them myself.”

“Let me set up an investigative committee…” Rooke trailed off, embarrassed how pleading her voice was getting. This whole conversation was setting off warning bells in her mind. Not for her own sake, or even the country’s. But Celestia’s. They were friends, after all.

Celestia raised her nose, frown deepening at the suggestion. “I have committees aplenty, and they’ve failed to ensure justice. If I’m the only one who can judge these cases fairly, then I’m the only one who will judge them at all.”

She lowered her head, once more fixing Rooke with that imperious glare. “Unless, of course, you think abuses by my own guards to be too small a thing for my attention.”

Rooke knew better than to take the bait. Even though Celestia had never baited her before.

Things were changing, and Rooke didn’t like it. “But when would you even do this?” she asked. “Your days are hardly empty as it is.”

“My Sundays are free.”

“Your Sundays are not free!” Rooke squawked the words, then quickly controlled her tone. “That’s when you visit the library, or play cards with the maids. Or just fly around with nopony following you. Sundays are your ‘you’ days.”

She finished with terse worry in her voice. “Princess, this troubles me. Even you need to rest sometime.”

If Celestia noticed the emotion, she gave no sign, and continued primly. “And I will rest far better knowing I am doing right by my ponies.”

She finally saw the grimace on Rooke’s face, and misread it entirely. Celestia disfavored her with a wry smirk, one eyebrow raised. “Don’t worry. We’re still on for next Saturday, if that’s what your concern is.”

Celestia did come the next Saturday, which honestly surprised Rooke. The princess lost, falling for the same tricks as ever, but at least it was a better game than the last.

The week after, Rooke got a lovely, if brief note from her chess partner:

“R.–

The Court will be running late today, probably into the night. If half these allegations are true, Duke Heartstrings will NOT be a duke for long.

Please think of this as a good thing. Ponies are learning that I care more for them than I do traditions and titles.

We’re on for next Saturday, as always.

–C.”

“R.–

Sorry for sending this so late. Sun Court is swamped this week, and not all the cases are clear-cut.

If you like, I think Captain Shimmer plays chess. Maybe she’s around?

–C.”

Celestia didn’t even send a note the following week.

With a month now passed, Rooke was done waiting. She marched to the Legal Wing with resolution, fancying she would drag Celestia out if the princess wouldn’t come.

It wasn’t for her own sake – at least, that’s what Rooke told herself. She could always find more chess partners. Certainly more easily than Celestia could.

But… she couldn’t find another Celestia. Friends were a lot harder to replace.

The Saturday Court – damn it all – was still in full swing. Crowds were spilling out the doorways, craning their necks to watch the proceedings. Some work ponies in overalls and farmers were in the mix, pressing shoulders with lawyers and students. Rooke held her breath as she walked past.

The guards to Celestia’s balcony had always let Rooke slip in and out at will, but today it took some convincing. They got nervous around crowds, particularly with so many ponies who had no business getting close to the princess.

Well, Rooke certainly had business with her. Personal business, but business still.

Celestia’s back was turned, her body grey in the balcony’s shadow. Even her hair seemed a bit duller than normal. It hung almost unmoving in the air, mute and obedient. She was motionless upon her chair, reading transcripts while the lawyers below debated.

Rooke tiptoed forward with a mischievous smile, wondering if she had actually caught the Celestia unawares.

The illusion ended with two quiet words, from a mouth invisible behind its mane. “Hello, Rooke.”

Made bold by her nervous humor, Rooke leaned in close and impishly whispered in a sing-song voice.

“Do you wanna play a chess game?”

“I’m busy,” Celestia said dully, distracted by her readings. “Ask Captain Shimmer.”

“I don’t want to play with Captain Shimmer, I want to play with you!” Rooke pouted, pursing her lips in an exaggerated duck-face. She tried to lean over in front of Celestia, but a white hoof came up and held her back.

The princess’ face was still hidden with her back turned, voice still uninterested. “I said I’m busy, Rooke. I want to play, too. But it’s not about what I want.”

“You’re Princess Celestia,” Rooke said, and winced. Her voice had a way of cracking when she got to wheedling. “Literally, your word is law. How is it not about what you want?”

Celestia pointed down with her hoof. Rooke leaned over the railing and almost scoffed. On the main podium stood a donkey of all things – brown, humble, and ugly.

“The Duke of Prance has decided he doesn’t want donkeys in his realm anymore,” Celestia said lifelessly, arresting Rooke’s humor. “They’re being chased out of homes and schools. Those who won’t go are imprisoned.”

Next to her, Rooke could only see the tip of the mouth past the multi-hued mane. Celestia’s throat bobbed as she swallowed, then she licked her lips. “Rooke, I… I don’t want to do everything myself. But if you mortals keep–”

She stopped, mouth opening in a sharp gasp as she caught herself. Rooke was startled too, looking back at her sovereign with disbelief.

Celestia didn’t use the word “mortals” like that. Like an insult.

But she did. She just did.

The mouth closed, pressed in a thin line. Finally, Celestia turned to look at her. The face wasn’t stern or commanding. It had no authority, no regal arrogance of an immortal queen.

It was just Celestia. Eyes dull and resigned, not even showing sadness. Faint lines were under them, and the lips beneath were set in the most neutral of expressions.

“Well,” she said, hesitantly, well aware of what she had said and how she said it. “The well-being of my subjects takes priority over chess games, Rooke. I hope you understand.”

Rooke couldn’t argue, of course. But that didn’t mean she had to stop trying. “Another time, then?”

“Certainly,” Celestia said with a vague, meaningless smile.

Rooke wanted to believe it, so she did. She bowed and departed, and Celestia’s head turned limply back to the debate below.

It was… weeks or months later that Rooke tried again. Without any proper weekend, Celestia lost track of time a lot more easily than before. Court work bled into the weekdays, weekday work carried to the weekends, and soon there was little difference between the two.

Even when the courts began to slow, there was always something to do. A reform long-needed, an investigation into corruption, or a change to make the law a little more just. Hundreds, even thousands of lives, changed by alabaster hooves that had not known a day’s rest in… weeks or months. She lost track.

And this, Celestia decided, felt right. There was always a pony who needed her. Always more work to be done to make her land a little fairer, a little kinder.

The ponies served her. If she didn’t serve them back, how was she any different from Sombra? From Lu… Nightmare Moon?

Locked in such musings at her desk one day, Celestia didn’t notice Rooke until she began to sing. The unicorn was evidently in one of her flightier moods. She was standing in a silly biped fashion, waving her hooves to get Celestia’s attention. When that failed, she began belting the improvised ditty.

“Do you wanna play a chess game?
Come on let’s go and play…”

Celestia raised a hoof to her mouth, giving a polite almost-laugh. “You’ve made your point. But I’ll have to take a rain check. For this week, at least.”

“Do you wanna play a chess game?
Come on let’s go and play
I never see you anymore
Come out the door
It’s like you’ve gone away!”

A gruff, muffled voice followed the first through the closed door. “Ma’am, leave at once! The princess is in a meeting!”

One of the griffon dignitaries coughed, and Celestia grinned awkwardly. “Ahem. Ah, yes. Where were we?”

“Do you wanna play a chess game?
We could do checkers if you like
A vacation is now overdue
The work will wait for you
I think–”

“Rooke, I’m very busy right now,” Celestia cut in sharply. The quill in her magic grip never stopped scratching across its parchment.

“Do you wanna–”

Again, the interruption didn’t break the pace of Celestia’s quill. “Rooke, this was cute at first, but you’re making a fool of yourself. Is there no one else who wants to play with you?”

“Don’t you?” Rooke asked, that annoying crack in her voice coming through.

“Of course,” Celestia said without the slightest warmth. “But this isn’t about me.”

“Then who is it about?” Rooke didn’t snap the words, but she almost did.

A slight, hmph sounded from Celestia’s throat as she peered close at her parchment. “Right now, it’s about protecting settler ponies from speculators who know how to game the system.”

Rooke sighed. “Tia, I’m worried about you.”

The response sounded bored, and the quill never stopped moving. “I’m a princess in a castle, with all my wants and needs attended to. Your worry is appreciated, but misplaced. Now if there isn’t anything else…”

Rooke opened her mouth, and slowly closed it. With a half-hearted bow, she slunk to the doorway.

“Oh, Rooke?”

“Yes?” Rooke responded, not even hoping for much.

Scratch, scratch. The quill kept writing, even as Celestia gave her a single glance.

“Please do not call me ‘Tia.’”

Rooke bowed again, though it was more akin to a head sinking to the floor. “Of course, Princess. My apologies.”

Celestia just grunted an acknowledgement, attention back on her work.

Time passed.

And the times, now, were hard. Celestia had celebrated with the rest of the nation when Canterlot was finally completed. And she, along with her ponies, was blindsided by what came next. With no more great projects to support them, construction and quarry firms were going belly-up across the country. Thousands were out of work. The treasury was all but empty, the bit was losing value, and it seemed set to get worse before it got better.

But ponies were pulling together, helping each other through the tough times. Celestia would do the same. It mattered not that her castle was grand, and her belly full. Poor though they were, the ponies outside still held their loyalty to her. She would deserve that loyalty.

The ministers had formed a finance committee to deal with the crisis. In the space of weeks, Celestia had replaced it with her own labor. Too much was at stake to let the bureaucrats play their games.

Desk high with papers, Celestia scratched frantically with quill and ink, trying to make the numbers fit. It was late, yet so much remained to do. A chance glance up and she noticed Rooke, standing before her in the candlelight.

No song and dance, now. Just Rooke, with a patient little smile on her face.

“Rooke,” Celestia shook her head. “It’s a bad time. I’m far too busy right now.”

Rooke’s smile grew pained, and she nodded. “I know. But please, this is important. I…”

She shook her head, laughed instead of cried, and went on. “I’m retiring. I came to say goodbye.”

That got Celestia’s notice. She looked up sharply, this time paying attention.

Rooke had gotten old. Not terribly old, but made so by sickness. She was still tall, but it was skin and bones, with mane hanging thin and limp down her neck. Lines ran across her cheeks, and her beautiful black coat now had a grey pallor to it.

Her wanly-smiling face was the worst of all. Rooke’s eyes were yellow and puffy, and her teeth stretched too far past their anemic gums.

Celestia blinked, looking up with almost stupid incomprehension. It couldn’t have been that long. Could it?

“…Rooke?” She asked tenderly, emotion bubbling up in her voice. “I… why…?”

“‘Why now?’” Rooke’s quiet smile remained. “I meant to retire years ago, but with this economy there was always so much to do. There still is, I know, but I just can’t keep up anymore.”

She gave a breathless little laugh. “You set a hard pace to follow.”

“Then why did you follow me?!” Celestia all but shrieked. No, Rooke was her only friend! She couldn’t just–

“What can I say?” Rooke laughed. “You’re an inspiration. Now, I’m going to check into the hospital before it’s really too late. And… I guess I’m hoping you could visit me there? Just once or twice, before–”

Don’t finish that! “Of course, Rooke.” Celestia swept out of her chair and embraced the far-younger mare with her forehooves. She swallowed hard, fighting down her own tears.

It was Rooke who broke the contact, sooner than her princess would have guessed. The old friend gave a shaky bow, and departed to the darkened halls without another word.

A few of the older guards spoke of Celestia like a friend. They claimed she knew their names, blessed their children, and cheered their sports in earlier days.

Stern Glare was a young guard, and couldn’t say the truth of it. Claiming friendship with Celestia seemed like an idle boast, from old throats born well after the last war. She was always polite, and he was more than willing to believe her good intentions. But befriending no-name guards like himself? He’d been here three years, and had never seen anything of the sort.

Truth be told, that suited him just fine. Stern Glare didn’t like talking in the first place, much less to the pony in charge of everything. He would speak with Celestia maybe a dozen times during his career. Each was nothing more than a polite exchange between princess and guard.

Except for one.

Nopony would ever know. He didn’t gossip, not even in his later years. About that time he came to her at her desk, message in mind and lump in throat.

Celestia always kept her office open, sparing messengers awkward knocks at the door. Stern had peered inside, and at first glance all was normal. Her long neck was hunched over her gilded desk, as she was wont to when concentrating.

He coughed politely, and her head shot up. He saw the difference, then – the first time he ever saw her composure frayed, and it would be the last. Celestia’s face was caught in a grimace, and her eyes were loaded with tears that hadn’t quite fallen. Her throat bobbed as they locked eyes.

Stern Glare immediately looked away, eyes turning down. There was a card on her desk, distinctive in that it was colored black with white lettering. It was an invitation to a funeral, for somepony named… it began with an “R.” Celestia’s hoof was on the card, obscuring the rest.

Tongue tied, Stern Glare shifted awkwardly at the doorway, wondering whether to leave at once.

Celestia solved the conundrum in less than a second. “Yes, my guard?”

He looked back to her. Celestia’s endless smile had replaced the grimace, and the eyes were blinked clear. Had he not seen her a second ago, everything would have seemed normal.

“The Donkey Patriarch is here,” Stern managed, uncertainty still quivering his voice. He rambled on, unsure when to stop. “Er, nothing too important. That is, today’s the tenth anniversary of the Equality Decree, and he came here with a gift to thank you. I think it’s a big deal for them. The donkeys, I mean. Not important. Well, important to him, but I can ask him to wait if you like.”

“Not at all,” Celestia said, so calmly it felt surreal in light of what he just saw. “Please bring him to my throne room. I’ll be there shortly.”

He bowed quickly and turned to leave.

“Wait.”

Stern resumed his stance at once, nervous at the attention.

Celestia paused a moment before continuing, eyes on the little black paper in front of her. She bit her lip and glanced up to him, though quickly lowered her gaze again. “May I ask you a question?”

What could he say, but “Of course, Princess.”

“Have you been to a funeral before?”

“Y-yes, Your Highness.” Stern Glare felt his tension ease, just a little bit. Sad news aside, it was good to be reminded Celestia wasn’t made of plaster.

Again, she paused a moment before speaking. “Are they done for the sake of the living, or the dead?”

It was good that her gaze was still down, else she’d have seen Stern’s wince. Philosophy? Have pity, Princess, I’m just a guard!

Prudence bid him give a canned ‘I don’t know, Your Highness.’ But he asked a question instead, made a bit bold by Celestia’s uncertainty. No mortal quite knew the depth of her knowledge, and he wondered as much as any of them…

“Is there a life after death, Your Highness?”

The age-old question. Some ponies believed the wicked dead went to Tartarus, alongside the monsters of old, while the good went to some paradise. The question surely burned in every breast, and Stern couldn’t quite suppress a thrill of excitement at perhaps learning from Celestia.

He would be disappointed, but not greatly surprised. The princess looked at him and smiled, just a little bit. “I’m certain I don’t know.”

It had been worth a try, and allowed Stern to answer with conviction. “Then it is my humble opinion that funerals are for the living. They are a chance to mourn openly, for friends and family to find closure. Was…”

He gestured awkwardly with a hoof. “Was that pony close to you?”

Another measured hesitation as Celestia’s gaze drifted back to the letter.

“No,” she said softly, eyes dry. “She was, some years ago. But I hadn’t seen her in a long time.”

Stern nodded, taking the initiative in the conversation. “If it pleases you, My Princess, allow me to see the date and I will ensure a chariot is ready for you then.”

“Thank you,” Celestia said, giving him another quiet smile. “But that won’t be necessary.”

“You’re right, of course. Funerals are for the living.” She swallowed and slowly, almost tenderly, swept the invitation from her desk. The black paper fluttered and wagged in the air, slowing its descent to the waste basket.

She gave a sigh, short and sharp. “And the living, I think, need my attention more than the dead.”

Stern lingered, mouth working without noise. That… wasn’t quite what he meant. Did she misunderstand? Maybe he should–

Celestia’s eyes flitted back to him, however briefly. “Please thank the Patriarch for his patience. Bring him to the throne room.”

It was an unspoken dismissal. His guard training snapped to the fore, and he bowed. “At once, Your Highness.”

Only when he was out of sight did he hesitate, wondering. Maybe he should have encouraged her, or asked about the pony named “R.” But the thoughts didn’t slow him as he walked down the hallway, nor could anypony see them through his guardpony’s glare.

When he next spoke to Celestia, years later, all felt right with her. The same occurred when they spoke the next time, and the doubts faded from Stern Glare’s mind. Looking back, he even chided himself for worrying so.

After all, she seemed to get on well enough.

Author's Notes:

With thanks to the pre-reading assistance of Derpmind.

Normally I love offering commentary on my work, but doing so hasn't felt right so far. This is a story of many misconceptions and uncertainties in a life, and I feel better leaving them up for interpretation than clarifying my own position.

Suffice to say, though, this has been the first, last, and only Frozen reference. Done solely to have a catchy tune people would recognize.

Also, the Fiction Police fined me for writing a fat guy with heroic qualities. Apparently that's against the rules.