“I don’t suppose I can ask for details?” Celestia said it with a smirk, but her tone wasn’t light enough for joking.

They were in the reading room still, waiting for the final two. Tea had been made, because even in the strangeness of her current environs, some things were actually constant. Whatever certain ponies might say, something were in fact unchanging.

Applejack shook her head. “Sorry, Princess. No can do.”

“Figured.”

“We’ll know presently, at least.” Rarity stirred at her tea with a cup idly. “One way or another.”

“She’ll make the right choice,” Fluttershy added, firmly. Or as firmly as she could manage.

Was the “real” Fluttershy’s voice as musical? Celestia struggled to remember. This version’s voice was divine. Smooth as silk, musical in all the ways that could matter, promising the world. She found she liked it quite a bit. The waking world’s Fluttershy was beautiful, stunning even, but this world’s version was beyond breathtaking. She was staring. Time to look away.

“I hope so,” Celestia said and took a sip. Things in dreams tasted strange, but always tasted of what she wished for. She’d conjured up chocolate tea once. That had been an adventure.

“But I will tell you it ain’t anythin’ like Luna’s,” Applejack said.

Spike had returned, books in hand to shelve again. He looked over his shoulder. “And yet, it is like hers. Just not in the way you fear.”

“Perhaps in the way you should fear,” Rarity muttered into her tea.

“My own was harrowing, but not… active, you could say,” Celestia said. “I had actually planned to tell Twilight eventually. Afterwards, when she was recovered. I thought it might help to have context, I suppose.”

Applejack smiled knowingly at her, and made a little gesture with her hoof, as if mimicking a wheel. It said--go on, go on.

Celestia squirmed a bit. “And perhaps I thought it might make us closer, yes, I admit it.”

“Oh, this is my favorite subject!” Rarity looked up then, her entire manner transformed. The former Lady was gone, the sighing and worried Rarity was gone, and in their place was the Gossip with gleaming eyes. “How do you think of yourself and Twilight? In what terms? Or perhaps, in what terms would you hope to think of yourself? Hm? Please, do tell!”

Celestia looked around. “You said that Pinkie Pie and Rainbow Dash would be coming, didn’t you? I don’t suppose you can get lost here, can you?”

“Well, you probably could,” Spike said. He had left and come back again with a tray of scones. Celestia was immensely distracted by them. Mostly, she was looking for a distraction. Partially, she was strangely and absurdly touched that Twilight had gotten her favorite teatime snack right.

“We could as well, if we wanted to.” Fluttershy pushed her mane out of her eyes. Her smile was a little stronger now, Celestia saw. “Maybe one day, when Twilight’s trial is over, she will want to do things with us. If she wanted, we could make this world work like the outside one does.”

Celestia’s fishing for distraction finally paid off. “Wait, you act as if the dream could be more than merely a reflection or… introspection.”

“Well, of course,” Rarity broke in with a huff. “Some mares have better things to do than--” she coughed, and then began again. “Yes. Your court could do likewise, if you wished. You could enjoy your old adventures or share them with the Sun. You simply never tried.”

“I… I did so, once. After a fashion. We used to enjoy each other, the Sun and I. At least, I thought we did.”

Fluttershy nodded. “Yes, and you can again.”

“But! First, you have to answer my question, Princess.”

The Sun’s shepherd--and perhaps its friend, as well--fought the intense urge to grimace. “Yes, I should, shouldn’t I?”

They all leaned in.

And she swallowed. “Well… well, honestly, I don’t know.”

A chorus of groans bombarded her. “Aw, don’t hedge the truth,” Applejack said, laying back on her beanbag. “Half a lie is a total one.”

“It isn’t either of those! I am genuinely conflicted.”

Fluttershy coughed. “Well, you like her, don’t you? She’s at least your friend. Right?”

“Of course.”

“Then that’s a good place to start. Twilight also thinks of you as a friend.” She paused, and nibbled on her lower lip as if considering something. “She wishes you would write more. She loves your letters a lot. I mean, she always did, but now she looks forward to them so much more and she reads them over and over and over and I realized this might be embarrassing just now.”

“I’m… honestly touched. I too wish she would write more. I know how busy she’s been. I’m very proud of her for how well she’s taking on her duties, small as they are yet. I wish she would ease into being a princess, go slowly, but her willingness to learn long before more is demanded of her is also refreshing. Cadance was much more reluctant.”

Rarity groaned dramatically. “Yes, yes, that’s all well and good but it’s hardly worth gossiping over. Fluttershy, dear, I’m a mare about my business.” She turned her sharp eyes to her would-be monarch and, to Celestia’s consternation and amusement, licked her lips. “And my business is prying the truth out of you like a miner in a gold mine.”

“Figured truth was my business,” Applejack said mildly from where she lay in repose.

“Yes, but affairs of the heart are mine!”

“If you’re implying that I have romantic intentions towards Twilight, I can’t help but disappoint you,” Celestia said, slowly. Carefully.

It was beginning to be clear to her that the aspects of Twilight’s court, at least, possessed knowledge that was perhaps beyond her. Applejack knew when she waffled or misspoke. Rarity’s grasp of the old language was beyond Twilight’s. She’d said so herself, and Celestia had no trouble believing it. Twilight was studious and delighted in old knowledge, but usually it was more… practical. Was practical the right word?

“Scientific?” Applejack offered.

“Or magical,” Fluttershy said.

Having her own aspects finish her sentences had been somewhat natural. Having her sister’s do so had taken her decades to get used to. Somehow, having Twilight’s do the same effortlessly left her feeling exposed.

“If you want me to go beyond saying that my feelings are complicated, then I will.” Celestia sat straighter. “I’ll try my best to explain myself. To give an account.”

“ ‘s all anypony could ask for, honestly.”

*

Twilight had found a book of history.

Specifically, one dedicated to Celestia herself. She’d read the like before, of course. If she were honest with herself--which was more impossible than it seemed--she’d read them before her feelings about Celestia had changed but had devoured them afterwards. How many hours of her life had Twilight spent trying to uncover the true Celestia? Many, no doubt. Tomes of history and lore, half-remembered and contradictory, and from the refuse she had pulled a few precious scraps of gleaming, golden truth. As best she could tell, at any rate.

She’d found stories of Celestia as a roaring inferno of violence, not causeless and not unfocused but sharp and intentional as a well-thrust lance. There had been brief glimpses of a Celestia bored with the mundane, and of one endlessly enthralled by it. Celestias that dallied with shortlived life, marrying and courting, and of Celestias that devoted themselves to study or governance. Always behind these things there was a sense of purpose. Perhaps Twilight had herself put that purpose there but she did not think so. Celestia was Intention. She created meaning in the shapeless void, and swirled the cosmos around her hooves. If she looked at it with surprise and awe afterwards, it was not that she was caught unawares--she simply reacted to the miracle properly, with the attitude that it deserved.

At first, she had searched for ways to prove herself, or at least to make herself desirable. When she was younger, the idea of catching another pony’s eye had in some ways been so much more simple. Romance happened. It was an automatic facet of one’s life. Inevitable, starting with meaningful glances and a warm feeling around another and then proceeding like wedding-bell clockwork from there. So her project to find what the Princess liked or valued and then emulating that thing had seemed perfect.

Age had taught her otherwise. She supposed in another decade she would think differently again. Perhaps a pony a decade older than she would not think of intimacy as fraught with terror as the current Twilight thought it. Instead of seeing a troubled sea full of worry and agony and genuine gut-fear that older Twilight would see and actually understand.

This particular book of history was a few hundred years in the future in comparison to herself. She’d not caught the author’s name, but whoever they were, she was impressed. The prose was brilliant. The detail was, frankly, astounding. The effort was clear. The pony who had penned this massive volume had all but devoted herself to the subject at hoof.

Twilight assumed the writer was female. Why? She found she often did, when there was no way to know otherwise. Perhaps it was simply because she herself was a mare. Certainly, she didn’t think that there was some sort of rigid differentiation in something as silly as writing style.

Curiosity, Twilight Sparkle’s most valuable and oldest friend, shone brightly and briefly through her malaise. She carefully saved her place and turned the book over.

There, on a nondescript cover, were the words: Sol Invictus, or The Invincible Sun. Huh. Now there was a title. Twilight managed a smirk.

And then it immediately died. By HRM Twilight Sparkle.

She didn’t even read the degrees attached. She almost dropped the book.

“I wrote this,” she said to the empty air. “Me. This…” She started leafing through it again, seeing everything in a new light. “I know her this well. I’ve dared ask these questions. Biographical information, historical commentary, when she started drinking tea. How long did this take me? How long was I… I writing it?”

Only then did it occur to her that she would write this five hundred years in the future. Ageless. Endless. Mostly.

She wanted to read every single page. No, every single word. This was the treasure trove that a young Twilight would have practically drooled over. To know everything about Celestia, to have it all right then and there, had always been her dream.

Twilight sighed and sat, cradling the book.

She wanted to go home. The excitement faded. When she looked down at the cover, she felt a strange sort of shame.

The author--that Twilight, whoever she would be--had put so much effort into this. She had discovered it all by herself, and used her time to build a monument to her mentor. Before, she had been merely impressed by the devotion but now that she knew it for her own Twilight felt it. There was no need for her to imagine that devotion, because she was already inside it.

It was a letter, wasn’t it?

“Yes, it is.”

Twilight jumped, startled again as the Archmage returned. She stood right before Twilight, a frown on her face. “Do try to keep yourself from leaning on the shelves,” she said.

“Sorry.” Twilight straightened. Right. She wouldn't’ want ponies doing that in Ponyville. Well. When she’d had a library, she wouldn’t have wanted that. It was nice to see something familiar in this spectre of her own future.

The Archmage didn’t seem to notice her apology. “It was the great letter, after which no letter was needed. A final climax to all such indirect communication. Nothing ever written by anyone will ever surpass that volume, Twilight. Nopony will ever be able to match its historical depth. Not a single living creature could hope to understand her as you will when you write that book and encapsulate her being in its pages.”

Twilight watched as the Archmage gripped the book with her magic and took it from her younger self’’s embrace. Twilight let it go.

The archmage flipped through the pages with a bored expression. “Every page in of itself could be enough for a student’s report. It is one of your minor works.”

Twilight furrowed her brow. “Minor? How could something I wrote about the Princess be minor?” When she’s so important to me, she didn’t add.

“Because the work you will produce afterwards will be infinitely more valuable. You don’t simply revolutionize magic and the mundane sciences. You invent new ones.”

“That’s good to hear, I think.” Twilight shook her head. “No, it’s wonderful. I want to be happy about it, but… Celestia? Minor?”

The Archmage looked at her with something that would have been annoyance, if much of anything could move across her face except indifference. “Yes. Minor. Of course it must be.”

“Why?”

“Why, you understood her perfectly. What else was there to write on? To research? What was there to explore, really, afterwards?” She made an almost comical little expression of comprehension. “Ah, I forget how young you are. Surely you don’t think anypony could satisfy another for so long?”

Twilight frowned. “I… I mean, I hadn’t thought about it that much.”

“Well, of course not, you’re not even at your first century yet.” The look faded away, replaced by the Archmage’s stoic demeanor.

“These books,” Twilight began, slowly standing up. She gestured at the shelves. “The new and the old. They’re real, aren’t they?”

The Archmage blinked at her. “Of course,” she replied flatly.

“Okay, yes, rhetorical question. But what I’m confused on is who writes them, if they are by me. You imply I wrote a lot of them.”

“There is a whole section that way,” the Archmage said, pointing.

Twilight’s curiosity almost unrooted her. She needed to see. What strange new secrets would she uncover, given world enough and time? “But, for these books, is it you? I mean, is it myself who made whatever decision you’ve asked me to make?”

“Well, of course.”

“Ah.”

Twilight bit her lip. “I don’t suppose you would walk me to that section, would you?”

The ghost of a smile was on the Archmage’s lips. “If you wish.”

*

“The first thing I can say,” Celestia began, “is that I have always been fond of Twilight from the day I met her. She was an eager filly with a bright smile and a thirst for knowledge. A filly after my own heart, really. Though, pity she didn’t have a sunnier name.” Celestia grinned. “It is a bit morbid for the Sun to have a student named Twilight, now that I think of it.”

“Oh, don’t tell her that,” Rarity said.

“I’m sure she already knows.” Celestia waved a hoof. “But I won’t be sidetracked, even by myself. As she grew older, I noticed Twilight’s… crush, you could say. I don’t like the word infatuation, even when it is appropriate. It feels condescending, even mean spirited. Perhaps that is myself projecting. It is certainly possible. But I noticed her feelings.

“And at the time, I was flattered. Of course I was. I am only flesh and blood… yes, of a different sort perhaps, but still I feel and want and appreicate as any pony does. I happen to be one. I was flattered, but I knew it would fade. It’s really rather common. Not just with me, mind you, but with those foals look up to for all sorts of reasons. A young filly having an innocent crush on her teacher is as old as Clover the Clever. And yes, she did in fact have one on Starswirl for a time, before you ask. She told me so.”

“Did she now?” Rarity’s eyes practically sparkled. “Oh, that is lovely.”

“I should tell Twilight that. I don’t suppose telling you is the same, is it?”

“Not exactly,” Applejack piped up. “She doesn’t know all we know.”

Interesting. Celestia filed that away for later.

Beneath her confession, as it were, she was still figuring out Twilight’s Court. The problem of having the Courts, beyond simply living “severally”, was that she and Luna had gone into the whole situation blind. Nopony had been there to help them or explain to them what this new and strange condition was or meant. The Courts themselves had been the only guide, and knowledge had depended on asking the right questions. Apparently, Celestia had not asked enough of the right questions.

“I wondered after some time, as she grew older, if things might change between us. She became interested in mares, and she was as always eager for my company. But at the time, I did not exactly plan or expect anything. I have had many female students who, ah, ‘swung that way’ as I’ve heard it said, and most of them never even thought to court me. On the other hoof, I knew it was certainly possible. I have had relationships with former students before.”

They all sat up at this. “You have?” Fluttershy asked.

Celestia simply nodded. “I’m surprised that Twilight didn’t already know that.”

They all looked at each other.

“I am too, frankly,” Applejack said and shrugged. “Guess she liked thinkin’ she was the first an’ only? Though don’t think Twi would appreciate me sayin’ so.”

“Yes, it does sound a bit…” Rarity waved her hoof around as if that would catch the word. “Naive, perhaps? Vain?”

“Um, I don’t know.” Fluttershy said. “It just sounds normal to me. Ponies like to think they’re special.”

Celestia winced. “Now, I will take a detour here for this: specialness. To not be the first or the only is not to be somehow less ‘special’ or dear to me. Twilight is a special pony. A beautiful, wonderful pony.”

Fluttershy flushed. “Do you think so?”

“Of course,” Celestia said quickly, still moving along. Visions of previous conversations played in her mind, all of them supplying her with her old answers. “But that doesn’t mean she’s the first unicorn I’ve ever considered a relationship with, or the first student. There have been archmages before her. There will be after she is gone. Or, well, I suppose after her…” Celestia shrugged. “You understand the idea, at least.”

“Makes a pony feel mighty small,” proclaimed the agrarian scholar, who had found her wheat stalk again. Why wheat? Celestia was still puzzled over that. It seemed silly, but who was she to judge? “A single grain in a bucket of sand, like.”

“It isn’t meant to. I’ve simply had this conversation too many times. Ponies worry about me, or about what I am or about who I am. They needn’t. At some point or another, almost every lover has asked me about the others. I’ve always tried to be sympathetic, but I also always feel frustrated. I know that it’s hard for me to understand what it is like to be shortlived. I know that it is difficult for me to see the pain that might be caused by the idea that there have been so many, but that doesn’t mean that I can stand in any form the old accusation that my friends and lovers--my loved ones--are just…” she made a little growl. “Just an unending assembly line.”

“W-we didn’t say that,” Fluttershy said, shaking her head. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean--”

“None of us did, sug,” Applejack said. “But it’s a sore subject.”

“Because if they think themselves diminished by me, or by the implications of my Self bared to them, what shall I feel in return when they recoil?” Celestia sighed and closed her eyes. “If they think that it is awful to be in the presence of something larger, or something that seems to them to be beyond them in some way, imagine what it is like to be that solitary Thing. To have ponies have trouble believing even the most basic truths about you, that you are in fact a pony. That you have friends. That you love sincerely and miss lost dear ones sincerely and honestly and often. But no, they assign to you coldness because you yourself do not die.”

The others were silent, looking at anything else.

Celestia began again. “I’m sorry. It is indeed a sore subject. Those I have lost, however, are not. You may tell Twilight that,” she added, and they perked up a bit. “I would love to tell her of all my old friends. We’ll have plenty of time. But, to get back to the point.

“I didn’t plan for her to court me, and after awhile I honestly didn’t expect her to. I knew she still felt some way towards me, but she wouldn’t act on it or face it, and I would not make her. Not only did I not have romantic feelings myself that would push me to do so, but I take care not to make the first move. Once again, because ponies don’t see a flesh-and-blood mare courting somepony she loves. They see the Ageless Avatar of the Sun.”

“That is a bit different, when you say it that way,” Rarity allowed.

“A bit, yes. And I didn’t feel anything beyond friendship and a teacher’s fondness until the night that Luna returned.”

They all focused on her then.

“The first night she met all of us,” Fluttershy said. She smiled brightly. “It was the scariest moment, but the best moment.”

“When she most felt lost--”

“--and also the most secure.”

“When she knew she would not be alone--”

“--Even though she was, in fact, alone at that moment.”

Celestia couldn’t keep track of who spoke. It was dizzying to hear them take up each other’s sentences effortlessly, without pause. She looked from face to face, and found them all intent on her. Celestia cleared her throat.

“Yes, the night that Luna returned. Or, should I say, that Twilight returned her to me.”

“You came then, unlooked for, in the eleventh hour,” Rarity said, grinning.

Celestia raised an eyebrow. “Does Twilight know the Lays of Bell-Toris?”

“No, she does not,” sang the mare in white, her grin still strong. “But you do. And I do.”

“And I do,” Applejack said.

“I don’t,” murmured Fluttershy.

“And then you fell in love, yes?” Rarity asked, taking up the reins again. “Bit by bit, perhaps? Or, no, perhaps all at once! Struck down by love at the moment of triumph!”

Celestia rolled her eyes. “Hardly. I was an emotional wreck. Luna was an emotional wreck. I was ecstatic and remorseful and working on adrenaline for much of that adventure. I did not exactly have time for grand romantic epiphanies. It was gradual.”

And then of course, just like that, she realized she’d admitted it.

The reaction was swift. Rarity was right up in front of her, manic.

“So you do!”

“What?”

“You are indeed in love with Twilight Sparkle.”

Celestia grimaced. “Well, yes, but let’s not--”

Rarity simply crowed victoriously.

Celestia’s ears folded back against her head. “Please, calm down. Yes, I have romantic feelings for her, but it isn’t as if I’m about to go ask her to court me! Or, well, for me to court her. Whichever. Please stop celebrating.”

“Ha! As if I could.” But Rarity did return to her seat, swaggering all the way. “Really, Your Majesty, was it so hard to say?”

“Yes.”

“Why?” Fluttershy asked.

“Because she’s ageless now.”

Three uncomprehending looks.

“Which means… that I am in uncharted territory with her. I’ve never been in any sort of relationship with another ageless pony. My sisterhood with Luna not counting, obviously.”

“Why shouldn’it it?” Applejack asked. “I mean, ain’t the same obviously, but did you get tired of her? You finished with her?”

Celestia frowned. “Of course not. You can’t just use up a pony, or find the end of them. A pony is an everchanging thing, a tiny sliver of eternity.” A pause. “Oh. But there are still... I mean, I have concerns. Several.”

“Jus’ thought you might want to connect those two,” Applejack said with a smug tone and returned to her book. “Also, you might wanna hold on t’ somethin’.”

*

“So… what is life like for me, in your future?” Twilight asked.

Walking with the Archmage was like walking alone, not because the Archmage was in fact herself but because she was stiff, silent, and practically nonexistent. She was more furniture than pony. Which was really a rude thought for her to be having, honestly, but she justified it in that it was true. Not to mention it was probably a bit rude to be so standoffish in the first place. Maybe.

“Challenging,” the Archmage replied. “Busy. I won’t tell you specifics. We don’t like spoilers,” she added. “But mostly you simply wouldn’t understand.”

“Right.” Twilight looked back down at her hooves for a moment. “And… Equestria still has four princesses?”

“Five, technically.”

“Wait, who is the fifth?”

The Archmage looked down at her with a single cold eyebrow.

“Right. Too much detail. But why do you let me read the books?”

“Let you? I hardly have a right to control you here. This is your library.”

“Mine?” Twilight stopped short at that. The Archmage kept walking. “This place is mine?”

“If you wish it to be.”

More silence, and Twilight followed. She had to pick up the pace just to keep up with the Archmage and her long strides. So this is what she would look like. This is what she would… be, she guessed. This stranger.

“And do you like it? Being a princess, I mean.”

The Archmage didn’t look down this time. “It is satisfying.”

“Ah.”

A few more minutes of silence. They reached the section, or at least the Archmage stopped. Twilight looked around, scanning titles. Mathematics, thaumaturgy, history. A few looked like textbooks. She didn’t linger on the titles very long.

“I’m still a bit hazy on what exactly I’m choosing.”

“You are choosing whether to grow up or not.”

But Twilight shook her head. “No. That’s being evasive. What is the actual choice? Not what it means, what it is.”

“Are you so sure they can be seperated?” When Twilight glared at her, she shrugged. “You are choosing whether to have a court or not.”

“A what?”

“In your time, there are four alicorns. Three of them live, to varying degrees, severally. I mean that they live in a fragmented state, their minds intruded upon by the element they are shepherds or guardians of, and so are not alone in their own minds. Celestia rules over the Court of the Sun, and finds it rules also over her. Luna has the Court of the Moon, and they are her companions and her occasional shame. Cadance lounges uselessly with the lounging Court of Love. And you? You will choose your own.”

“But… I mean, why am I doing that here? What do you mean ‘in her own mind’?”

“As in her mind. She exists severally.”

“Alternate personalities?” Twilight reeled. She hadn’t read much about mental disorders, yes, but she knew some of them. “Multiple personalities? Split perso--”

“No. She is not addled. Pay attention.” The Archmage frowned down at her imperiously. “You know Celestia, who is the face, but you do not know the mind. Just as you would construct a singular pony from the fragments of basic desires and higher functions, so too is Celestia made up of the Court. She is in control.”

“And I have one of these?”

“You should not.”

“Why? If Celestia and the others have one, is it really that bad?”

“Not for them, but they are not as you are. You are something new. You can be something greater. Purer. Undivided and singular.” The Archmage stood straighter, prouder. “And you must. For your own good. You will have the choice presently, when the candidates arrive, and then you will make your choice. To strive on without them, or to wait for them to catch up. To move or to dawdle.”

And with that, she turned and continued. Twilight made to follow her, but stopped. She felt dismissed.

When did she become so cold? Twilight didn’t think she talked like this ever.

A lot can change in a thousand years. She thought on what could change in her. She wondered what the pony who had left her had seen and done to be so alien.

*

Celestia didn’t have time to ask--”what?”--she had time only to take a breath and then she was no longer in the library. She was, in fact, falling. The wind howled in her ear, and she was glad, frantically glad, that it was impossible to vomit from vertigo in the Aether.

Her wings caught the air seconds before her mind caught up. She glided by pure instinct. All around her,

“Glad you could make it!”

Celestia looked up in time to see a blue blur angling towards her. She neatly dodged it, and turned to watch the strange shape slow to a crawl in the sky.

“And hello to you too, Rainbow Dash,” Celestia said, rolling her eyes. “As energetic as ever, I see.”

“Yeah! You know it. Besides, it’s an important day. The most important.”

“Oh?”

“Yup.” Rainbow Dash had risen to meet her at eye level. “Today’s the day the eggest of heads makes her choice.”

Celestia looked her over. She was Rainbow Dash, but decidedly different. If Twilight had turned Applejack into a gentlemare-planter, Rarity into a Lady of a House Major, and Fluttershy into a stunning beauty with a bit more courage… she had apparently made Rainbow Dash into…

“Why on earth do you look like that? Where did Twilight even find this armor? Or find the time to think it up?” Celestia asked, bewildered.

Rainbow grinned and did a little loop. “You like it? At first she was all like--Rainbow is a wonderbolt, but then she was all like, she looked great that one time in the Crystal Empire with the jousting. So, you know, she put this together. Except, not on purpose. Her subconcious. Or something.”

“Their official armor doesn’t even look like that. It’s literally thaumic-powered armor painted blue and yellow with flames.”

“I know! Isn’t it awesome?”

“I…” Celestia shook her head. “Yes, Rainbow. It is wonderful. ‘Awesome’ even.”

“It could definitely use more flames,” said Pinkie Pie from her perch on Celestia’s back.

“Well now, that seems a bit--what in the singing nine heavens are you--”

And that was when she bucked Pinkie Pie out of the sky. And then she watched for roughly three seconds in horror as that pinkest of ponies plummeted to her impending death on the indistinct ground below, laughing all the way.

Before she could race down to rescue Pinkie, Rainbow had beat her to it, carrying Pinkie with her as she ascended.

Pinkie giggled. “Sorry ‘bout that, Princess!”

“How did you…” Celestia shook her head. “It isn’t important. I’m sorry I threw you off.”

“You mind carryin’ her, Princess? She’s kind of heavy.” Rainbow said.

Celestia raised an eyebrow. “Twilight forgot the strength charms, didn’t she?”

Rainbow grunted. “Completely.”

Chuckling, Celestia held Pinkie in her magic and deposited the giggling mare on her back. “Will that do, Pinkie? It’s not quite safe, but it should be a bit more secure than being carried by Rainbow.”

“It’ll work, Your Superness!” Pinkie hugged to her and laughed again. “Now let’s go!”

“Go?”

“Yeah! Princesses to save, duh.”

“Or something,” Rainbow said. “Anyway. We’re headed to pick up Twilight, Princess. We figured that you should come with. But you have to promise us a few things. That’s why Pinkie is here.”

“Mhm! It’s really important, okay? It’s a Pinkie Pie swear.”

Celestia tried to look back at her, remembered she was, in fact, flying, and then turned back towards Rainbow. “Of course. And that entails…?”

“Cross my heart and hope to fly, stick a cupcake in my eye.” she said solemnly as Rainbow pantomimed the motions. Celestia sort of just blinked.

“Ah.”

“Yes. Now you do it.”

“Shouldn’t I know what I’m swearing to first?” she asked weakly.

“Oh yeah.” Pinkie cleared her throat. “Well, you can’t tell Twilight what to do. That’s really kind of it.”

“You can answer any questions she asks,” Rainbow said. “You can’t suggest questions. Only direct answers.”

“And honest ones.”

“Even if you don’t think she’ll like the answer. You have to.”

Celestia frowned. “I confess that I’m a bit worried. I’m not sure what she’ll ask.”

“You don’t have to go,” Rainbow said. “Sorry. If you come with, you gotta take the oath.”

“And if you don’t come with, how are you gonna see my awesome hat?” Pinkie Pie piped up from behind her.

Celestia took a deep breath. “Any question. Any at all?”

“Yup!” they said in unison.

“Will it help her?”

Rainbow shrugged. “We don’t know--and neither does she. Or you. We just know that it’s okay. I don’t give the orders, just follow ‘em. I’m a rookie after all.” Her grin was lopsided. “But, for real, I honestly don’t know either way. It could help a lot. It’s really up to Twilight.”

“Do you trust her?” Pinkie asked. “It’s okay if you don’t. We won’t be offended. Trusting another pony is scary, we know that.”

“You can not be sure about them and still be loyal,” Rainbow said. “At least, I think you can. Twilight isn’t sure about Trixie, you know, but she wouldn’t let a pony lie about her if she knew it was a lie. Okay, bad example. The point is…” Rainbow sighed. “Argh. Trust is confusing. Just sticking with somepony is easier. More emotionally satisfying, at least.”

“Nuh-uh! It’s harder.”

“For you maybe!”

“Dashie, don’t be mean.”

Celestia coughed. “I think I understand what you mean. Making the choice is hard, but following through is a relief. In a way, it makes sense.”

“Yeah! Kinda.”

“I think I’ll go. I trust Twilight, or I want to trust her. If there is a chance my presence would help… I’ll go.”

“You gotta do it!”

“Do what?”

Oh. Yes. The silly ritual. Celestia groaned. “Must I?”

“Absolutely,” they said in unison, sternly if anything.

Celestia sighed, thought of Twilight, and did the absurd ritual.

And then she was somewhere else.