One dark august morning, just before sunrise, Princess Celestia woke up to die.

She didn’t wake up slowly, and nor was her awakening sudden. It was more of a steady thing, like the settling of a last jigsaw piece into place. Her room was warm, and bathed in the strange almost-light of dawn, a sort of grey that would filter over time into a brownish gold. A gust from outside fluttered at the curtains, carrying on it the scent of late-blooming honeysuckle. Celestia raised her head off the pillows and sniffed; her eyes were still closed.

She rose, and the purple blanket slid off her back as she stretched, bones cracking and muscles slackening. Her wings splayed out and waggled a V into the air, feathers glistening in the twilight. A few, loosened over night, tumbled out into a spiraling-downwards trail through the air. She paid them no mind, instead tossing her head out and sending her mane flying with it.

It was pink; not purple and pink and a rich turquoise, but pink alone, and neither did it sparkle. It hung limp around her shoulders, weighted and corporal. A white hoof reached up and brushed it from her eyes, eyes which were still closed.

She took a step forwards, following her hoof down off the bed’s rise and onto a carpeted floor. Her other followed after it, carrying her body with it, out of her bed and into her room. Her horn lit up, illuminating the room briefly as a second glow brushed aside a set of distant curtains to reveal a world outside as dark as the one in.

Her eyes were still closed. She stepped towards the breeze still trickling in, nostrils twitching and a smile tugging at her lips. Her nose and horn tip passed the curtains, sticking out into a world still ruled by night. She breathed.

And then, at last, her eyes opened.

“Tea?”

Celestia did not turn at the voice. She did not flinch or cower or tremble or quake. The only reaction she gave was a nod and a sigh.

It appeared that was enough; the hoofsteps she had not heard approaching rang out as the speaker retreated. Off to get the tea, no doubt. She could have made it for him, had he asked, and so, in fairness, could’ve he. But then again, perhaps this tea was best made by hoof. Magic... magic complicated things.

She breathed out again, pouring the air through her lips and out into the world. Her nose twitched as she gulped scent back through it, tasting, savouring the air. It was a rare thing to have honeysuckle out this late in the season, and Celestia was grateful for it. It made the approaching autumn all the sweeter.

Celestia’s ears flicked; the hoofsteps were coming back. She considered turning, but no. There was no need. She knew that voice, and even then there was only one pony it could be.

A white mug, steam drifting off it, floated out next to her in a wrap of green haze. The colour faded into yellow as she took ahold of it, and then floated it next to her lips. She sipped.

It tasted horrible. But that was to be expected.

“Is everything prepared?” Her voice was quieter than she’d thought it’d be. Almost hesitant, in fact.

“Yes, Princess. We have a squadron of unicorns ready should there be any difficulties with the dawn.” The voice was rough, male, and there was no hesitation to it: the words were spoken as they’d been waited all their lives to be said.

Which was rather strange, when she thought about it.

“And the decision...”

“It’s final,” he completed. Celestia felt like she should’ve been sitting down. This was the sort of news you sat down for, yes? And yet...

“Then I accept.” She took another sip of the tea, swallowing it down despite the bitterness it left lingering on her tongue. “And Luna?”

He stepped forwards, brown coat murky in the half-light, but the red and yellow of his mane clear under the glow round her horn. “You know I can’t tell you about that, Princess.”

“Not even for your favourite aunt, Prince Silver Saddle?” His eyes were dark and hard, unwavering. Too strong. “Please?”

He blinked. “No.” The eyes moved away from hers, looked out onto the world.

Princess Celestia sighed, but only a little one. Not one that Silver Saddle would’ve heard. She took another sip of tea, her tongue running round the cup’s china rim.

“I don’t agree.” The words were short, curt and said more to the world than to her. She almost expected to see a frown on his face when she turned her head towards him, but it was blank. “I just thought you should know that.” His eyes moved, searching for something off in the distance.

Celestia paused, nodded and took another sip of tea. It was cooler, now: cool enough for her to turn the sip into a gulp. The sooner the tea was finished with, the sooner they could get on with it.

“I mean, Princess Luna I can understand,” Prince Silver Saddle continued. “She’s already gone dark three times... We’ve had to deal with Nightmare Moon three times. But you’ve never lost it, never given us a reason to think that you could.” He paused; Celestia slurped. “Could you?”

The first hint of dawn broke over the horizon, the lights spilling out and round the distant Foul Mountains and shattering against the rooftops of Canterlot. Celestia smiled as she watched it, the novelty of being the audience rather than the performer not yet lost on her.

Her cup was almost empty now.

“Just because I could does not mean that I will.” She breathed out. One drink left. “But you are right to fear the consequences. You could not handle two Nightmare Moons, not even now.”

She nodded at the green horn growing from his head, and the green wings attached onto his sides, both half-translucent and shimmering in the rising light of dawn. The wings flapped once as he turned to look at them, luminescent muscles flexing clearly.

"That doesn't make it right," he muttered back, before his jaw tightened closed and his ears flattened back.

"Fear you've said too much?" Celestia chuckled, and found, not to her surprise, that it was a hard thing to do. "It's alright. I won't tell anyone."

She went for another sip and drank air. The cup was empty, and so she lowered it to the windowsill, grateful that her magic at least lasted.

"Besides," she continued, "it's not always about what's right. I didn't abdicate the throne so that my successors would only make morally right decisions. I... I abdicated so that they could make decisions." She swallowed; her throat felt dry. The most distant mountains were beginning to fade.

She became aware, a few moments after the event, that she was moving, Prince Silver Saddle having decided to guide her back to the bed. Her legs twinged their gratitude as she slumped down. Light flashed along her eyes as her head turned back towards the window and beheld the risen sun. A feeling blossomed in her chest, warm and glorious, and she felt the urge to articulate it:

“Do you know what my favourite name is, out of all the ones they’ve ever called me? The great mother.” She laughed, or at least tried to. “The great mother indeed...”

The world had grown blurry and breathing had grown difficult. Talking, though... Talking was easy. The same words that had felt quiet before came like a roll of thunder, now -- loud and booming and utterly overwhelming.

“Tell me, Silver Saddle: What is the last thing a mother ever does for their children?”

Prince Silver Saddle was silent. But that was alright; Celestia knew the answer.

“She lets them grow up.”