Five hundred years.

Five hundred years since the completion of Canterlot. That meant around six hundred since she lost Luna.

Celestia would not have even noticed if not for the celebrations. All Equestria, and Canterlot especially, were going all-out for the Quincentennial Anniversary. The new capital had marked the birth of “modern” Equestria: a land of endless peace and prosperity, well-worthy of celebration. Parties, parades, and fireworks echoed across the nation as ponies threw themselves into the festivities.

Nopony seemed to care that Canterlot’s construction had heralded a decades-long depression. Now, with wealth more abundant than ever, noble patrons were looking to make their marks. High art was booming, and soon filled the city with new statues, paintings, and decorative windows.

Celestia commissioned nothing for herself, though gifts flowed in from every corner of Equestria. She held herself to receiving each one personally, grimly accepting that it would waste weeks of her precious time. But these gifts were so expensive, and so gratefully given, that she could not bring herself to delegate. She greeted each visitor personally, thanked them warmly for their present, and called in the next of the endless stream.

A few of the gifts stood out. The armor presented by the Duchess of Prance was heavily enchanted, enough to rival her strongest magic. Similar strength marked the bow from Manehatten’s lord, and the lance from Trottingham’s.

Useless though the war-tools might be in the peaceful kingdom, she liked them far more than the gifted art. A thousand other guests would bring Celestia her own image in every medium imaginable: portraits, engravings, stained glass windows, and more. Her own little statue from the Greyfeather griffon was matched and outshone by hundreds of visages of Princess Celestia, each the very model of royal perfection.

The first few annoyed her, as the old statue did. But she grew used to them as more came.

All in all, she was satisfied. Much as the celebrations threw off her schedule, they were a good sign. A reminder that she had done well, that she had done right by her ponies. Even if their faces were swiftly forgotten, and their gifts not worth a second thought.

Except for one.

The latest of the Fleur family had gotten it in her head to make life-sized bronze statues of Equestria’s great statesmen. There was a Star Swirl, of course, and a Silk Pants done in honor of his knighthood.

The third one–

Rooke.

The sight of it jolted Celestia from her serene boredom. It was Rooke, and a near-perfect image at that. No glasses, but the bronze was darkened to represent her black coat. She was standing erect with her head turned left, smiling coyly to an unknown distance.

The artist had returned everything Rooke had in life. From her slim legs to her unusual height, it was if the mare had been frozen in her youth.

Celestia paced around the statue, twitching her wings, wearing a wistful smile as the memories came flooding back. Rooke was a good one. A bit arrogant, a bit silly, but a true friend all the same.

Her last friend. Five hundred years.

I won’t deny it, Celestia thought, reaching her hoof out to touch the bronze shoulder. Most days I don’t even realize it, but I’ve been lonely.

It’s good to see you again.

Celestia couldn’t recall what came after. She would have no memory of the next face in line, or the gift it brought. Her thoughts kept shifting to the two Rookes: the dead one and the bronze one. In mind’s eye, she saw Rooke as the sick old mare again. The friend she left behind.

But here stood a younger Rooke. The cheerful girl, who would blush and stammer when Celestia nipped her ear.

The day passed in an instant. Celestia blinked, and she was alone with her gifts. A pile of gilded junk, a horde of porcelain-perfect Celestias… and Rooke.

The princess stepped down from her throne, gaze fixed on the bronze mare. Her parched mouth bit down on its tongue. Her breath moved in a tremble.

She had a chance. To make her peace. To say what wasn’t said.

Discretion came first. Celestia lifted all three of the bronze statues with her magic and left the throne room. She cheerfully waved back servants who swooped in to help, declaring that she liked these so much she’d put them in her living space.

“I’m allowed to do a little decorating myself,” she giggled, drawing obedient laughs from the staff.

Two flights of stairs to her quarters. Though frugal by the standards of royalty, Celestia did maintain a few rooms for her own comfort. There was a parlor and a private office, and both received a statue in an unused corner. They hardly fit the motif, but she could throw them out later. Glancing over her shoulder, Celestia gave a grin and slipped into her room with the bronze Rooke.

It felt… she didn’t know how she felt. A little guilty, but also thrilled. It was exciting in a fun kind of way, knowing that any pony who saw would think her crazy.

The door closed and locked securely behind her. Celestia set Rooke down in the middle of her room and wasted no time wrapping the statue in a full, two-hooved hug.

“Oh, Rooke!” There was sadness in her voice, but also joy at their reunion. “What was I thinking, letting you go? We could’ve had something!”

They could have. Celestia was attracted to Rooke, she knew Rooke felt the same, and the rest could have played itself out. Instead...

Instead I said, “Later.” And then she was gone.

The thought hurt, but only briefly. Celestia rubbed her neck against Rooke’s, giving a laugh. “Well, ‘Better late than never.’ I think it was Pants who said that, when he was late to his own knighting.”

She turned away, walking towards her vanity. “Sorry, just give me a minute. I’ve been working all day.”

Celestia came to the mirror and eyed herself. She looked alright, but the full day at court had taken its toll. Her horn glowed, opening a few of the drawers and removing their contents.

First, the eyeliner: enough to be tasteful, but not too much. Then a little blush on her pale cheeks, and a little darkener to the eyelashes. A tiny brush to groom her ears just right, a little spray of perfume, and–

“Stop. What are you doing?”

Even the aberrant thought did nothing but draw out a wry smile. Celestia glanced behind her in the mirror, noting Rooke was looking back.

“You know how foals go through this stage where they become obsessed with growing up?” Celestia asked. “I was the same, and I tried to drag Luna with me. She went along with some parts, but her dolls were beyond compromise.”

She grinned as the happy memory crystalized in her mind. “Luna scrunched up her face and shouted, ‘You’re never too old to play with dolls!’”

Lipstick. It took her a moment to choose. There were reds and golds, but she settled on a vibrant blue normally reserved for the Sapphire Ball. Celestia set on a few more layers than strictly necessary, making it nice and thick on her lips.

Preening done, she leaned in to eye the handiwork. Her face wasn’t perfect, no matter what the statues claimed. There were care lines crossing her cheeks, and faint circles under the eyes. But the makeup hid it well, and Rooke wouldn’t care anyway.

Celestia took a deep breath and closed her eyes. She opened them slowly, turning with a flourish. “How do I look?”

Rooke beamed back and answered. “Beautiful, but that’s not a change or anything.”

“Flatterer,” Celestia teased. She slowly walked forward, swaying her rump with each step. “But come on, be more specific. We never got this far.”

“You know, it’s a little weird.” Rooke chuckled, reaching a hoof to push up her glasses. “I always liked your neck. And I’m not a neck kind of girl, I just always liked how you held it.”

“My neck?”

“Well it’s not your chess skills.” Rooke laughed again, this time with a nervous tone. Her eyes moved to Celestia’s swaying flank, then back to her face, then back again. “This, uh, is a little fast, Princess. Don’t you–”

Celestia shushed her, placing a hoof over her smooth, black muzzle. The princess smiled impishly, seeing Rooke’s eyes cross to watch it.

“We’re in private, Rooke. Just call me ‘Tia.’”

Rooke closed her eyes and kissed the hoof. Celestia grinned and pulled it away slowly, leaving a thin trail of saliva behind.

She stepped in close, pressing her body against Rooke’s. The smile fell and she embraced her friend warmly. They stood there a moment, swaying gently as they pressed together. Two close friends who could have been so much more.

“How did I miss this, Rooke?” Celestia asked, pulling back to meet her old friend’s eyes. “How did I never even try? I could have been happy. I could have been so happy.”

“You can be happy now,” Rooke said, smiling kindly. And their lips met.

Celestia shivered at the contact, closing her eyes, lost in the moment. She didn’t even breathe for a few seconds. She hugged Rooke as tightly as she could, feeling their hearts hammering right next to each other. Her tongue pressed hard against Rooke’s lips, trying to work their way between the unyielding bronze.

Bronze.

Breathing in huffs, Celestia opened her eyes. No Rooke. Just a bronze statue, with blue lipstick smeared on its face.

Wordlessly, she scrunched her eyes back closed. Rooke was there. She was telling Tia how much she loved her.

Celestia kissed again, hard, tears falling from her closed eyes. Rooke was kissing back, reaching a sly hoof to caress her side…

Breath heaving in and out of her, Celestia began rubbing herself against Rooke. It started rhythmically, almost mechanically, but soon grew hard and fast. Her lungs burned as she kissed frantically, unwilling to pull away for a breath.

She had to, after several seconds. Celestia pulled her head back and gasped lungfuls of air, using them to rub ever harder against Rooke. She was standing on two hooves now, all but draped over the statue as the rubbing turned to thrusting.

“Stop.”

Celestia’s own, dreary voice sounded in her mind. “Just stop. Look at yourself.”

“What!?” Celestia gasped shrilly. She pressed her neck to the bronze face, desperately hoping to feel a kiss.

Nothing. Nothing! Her heart rate began to slow, her thrusting growing distracted. “Nopony’s being hurt by this!” she snarled, glaring wildly around. “Am I not allowed to be happy? For five minutes!?”

She looked to Rooke for support, but Rooke wasn’t there. It was just a statue, now wearing her sweat and spit.

“Finish up,” Celestia whispered harshly. She closed her eyes, trying to will the illusion back to the fore. Rooke was smiling, saying she loved her, nibbling her ear…

Yet the voice spoke again, and the spell was broken. “Stop.”

Heart hammering, Celestia threw herself from the statue. She staggered a few steps and collapsed into bed, knees buckling beneath her.

A few hard breaths, then softer ones. Minutes passed, and her adrenaline began to dim, the lust slowly clearing from her mind. She could think again, coming out of the haze that gripped her since she saw Rooke’s image.

“Just a dream,” she whispered.

Yes, just a dream. At least, the romance was. Rooke was her last friend and nothing more. They were never in love. Celestia had certainly never fantasized about her until now.

“Why this, then?” Celestia’s dry mouth asked. “Why now?”

There was no answer. Maybe it had just been so long that she couldn’t help herself.

“Stop that,” she growled. There was no such thing as “couldn’t help it.” That was an excuse. There was always a choice.

This was nothing more than a passing fantasy she gave in to. A weakness.

She raised her head, glaring back to the statue. A reminder of guilt and a target of lust. A weakness either way. It couldn’t stay.

Celestia’s horn glowed. Bronze was a simple metal to work, and she had long ago learned the mystic keys to affect it. Not just to change, but to unmake as well.

She didn’t want to. She wanted to disappear in the fantasy, weakness be damned.

But she couldn’t. Celestia sighed, and finished the spell.

With the metaphorical key turned, the statue became so much nothing. It was like a shaped cloud, slowly dissolving as the air claimed it. Rooke’s narrow face twisted and blurred. It faded to translucency, growing thinner and thinner until the last speck vanished from sight.

As it faded, Celestia could see the mirror behind. And the second face in it, even older than Rooke’s.

This time, Celestia did not know the name. But she remembered the face: careworn and slim, with a green crystal mane and coat. It was the slave from that last battle against Sombra’s army. When Celestia had slain thousands.

Including this poor woman. At least she looked as she did before the heat claimed her. The mare was whole and intact, gazing back with concern on her face.

There was a brief silence as they locked eyes, broken as the slave spoke. “Will you be okay?”

The words were soft and gentle, like a worried mother. Celestia gave the best smile she could, though it was trembling and weak. “Yes. Thank you.”

The mare smiled in response, but her sad eyes told she wasn’t fooled at all.

“I’ll be fine!” Celestia blurted. It was absurd, she knew, but she had to give comfort. “I’ll be fine. I just… I just…”

The words deserted her. Her tongue waggled without purpose. Her thoughts raced, too quickly to grasp.

It was too much. Celestia threw herself prone on the bed, plugging her ears with her hooves and scrunching her eyes closed. She curled up, humming randomly and rocking herself until sleep finally came.

She could feel the rocking even in her dreams. Celestia mumbled and giggled, neighed and cried, until every last conscious thought had deserted her. She had finally snapped. She didn’t care anymore.

And why should she? In her dream, Celestia was dead.

It was her turn, now, to stand before the great Judge of Tartarus.

She tapped her hoof as he began the trial, loud enough to draw a baleful gaze from the demon. Celestia just stuck out her tongue and continued. What was he going to do? Kill her?

Celestia was impatient. Why bother with the ceremony? She knew she was damned. The judge raised a scroll listing those she murdered, and it was twice as thick as Sombra’s and Luna’s put together.

The list wasn’t in chronological order. At the top, in his deep, slow voice, the judge boomed, “Luna.”

That stopped Celestia for a moment.

Then, her impatient hoof tapping resumed. If anything, faster and louder than ever.

Luna. She’s here somewhere. Scared and alone. In pain.

Because of me. Because I killed her.

I’m sorry, Luna. I’m coming for you. Maybe you’ll forgive me and maybe you won’t, but that won’t change anything. I’m coming, and I’ll stay with you forever.

The judge went on as slowly as ever, intoning her sins from one scroll after the next. An eternity passed, and finally, finally, there came the words she was waiting for.

“Princess Celestia. Do you have any final words, before your Judgment?”

She grinned cheekily and shook her head. Finally.

“Noted,” the judge said, as he always did. “Are you prepared for Judgment?”

This was it.

Scary, yes. Scary enough that her good humor deserted her. Celestia swallowed and nodded, eyes following the gavel as it slowly rose.

“I condemn thee…”

I’m coming Luna. And I swear, I’ll never leave you again.

“Sinner…”

“To Life Unending.”

The gavel came down, loud and final. Celestia sighed and smiled, nodding her head. It was over. Finally it was–

“What!?” she squawked, snapping her head back up.

Silence fell across the court. Even the gibbering, laughing imps stared curiously at her. The judge blinked slowly, tilting his head with the barest evidence of uncertainty. Celestia glared back, teeth grit, hooves trembling with anger.

“Is this some joke?” Celestia growled. “‘Life unending?’ What kind of a punishment is that?”

It seemed strange that the judge wasn’t angry at her defiance. He did not rise to argument, but settled back upon his bench, folding his claws into their voluminous black sleeves. He looked back neutrally, impassively, while Celestia stamped and snorted as if ready to charge.

The judge regarded her for a moment longer before closing his eyes. “I can do nothing else.”

She could scarcely believe her ears. Celestia tried to scream at him again, but all that came out was a hoarse, “What?”

“Princess Celestia,” the judge said, opening his eyes and gazing back. “You’ve slain tens of thousands, more than any monster who ever walked the land. You’ve betrayed your sister, your companion of centuries and closer love than any kinslayer I have ever seen.”

“You are a fiend beyond my power to judge. I have no fire hot enough for your murders. I have no whip sharp enough for your treachery. I have no judgment for your crimes, and so cannot judge you.”

He stretched forward his great claw, fingers out to the world beyond. “Therefore: depart, and never return.”

Just a dream.

But Celestia was not shaken like she was after the other nightmares. She just lay in bed, gazing up at the darkened ceiling.

It was silly to put any stock in these dreams. She knew she shouldn’t believe them.

Yet she did. She couldn’t help it. And that’s why she wasn’t shaking, or crying, or any of those other things she did when she was weak. The dream was awful. But it gave her answers, and there was a kind of peace in that.

Luna was gone forever. Celestia would never get her chance to apologize. They would never be able to fight, play, or any of those other thousand things they once shared.

Celestia, meanwhile, was here forever. She served her ponies, and would do so for another five hundred, thousand, ten thousand years. She would never die, never join Luna, so when would it end? Maybe never.

She smiled, very softly. Was it really so bad, staying behind? She would oversee endless generations of ponies, ensuring they know only peace, fellowship and hope.

Hope.

Celestia gave a quiet sigh, and closed her eyes. Every lover, every friend, they were all just dusty memories. As was Luna.

Hope was something she didn’t have. And… she didn’t need it. Nothing would change. That was alright.

She opened her eyes, and they drifted to the shelf above her head. Hidden from view, somewhere up there was Greyfeather’s old statue. It was almost funny – no, it was funny – how much she used to hate it. Now, though, it felt different. Like the last piece of a puzzle that finally clicked together.

Celestia was not the mare in the statue. That mare was wise and powerful. She was perfect. Nothing more than a plaster statue, but perfect all the same.

It was how so many ponies saw her. So many ponies thought Celestia and that mare were one and the same. She could see it, in all the portraits and windows they made of her.

They were wrong. Celestia was not perfect. She was not that mare, and she would never be that mare.

But she could try. For their sake.

It’s not about me. It’s about them. Star Swirl’s words. As true now as they ever were.

Her eyes drifted to the timepiece. 5 o’clock. The servants were probably on their way, preparing to rouse her.

The gentle smile returned, and Celestia rose from her bed.

“During my life I have seen, known, and lost too much to be the prey of vain dread. As for the hope of immortality, I am as weary of that as I am of gods and kings.”

-Mika Waltari, Finnish author

Author's Notes:

End of Part 1.

I've written a lot of emotional stuff, but this one hit me hard to write.

A few brief interludes coming out in short order... because history isn't over, now is it?