[CT]: Shitty Celestia Oneshot

>You’ve walked the road to the Castle of the Royal Pony Sisters many times over the centuries. You’ve walked it in rain, when water carried mud out onto the pristine marble, and in winter, when the snow cloaked the black-ice beneath and made every step a gamble.
>And it has never been this crowded.
>You’re walking the wrong way in an exodus: fighting against the flow. The ponies might only reach up to your waist at best, but the road is thick with them, and the wagons they pull are as tall as you.
>They’re taking everything with them: food, furniture and fortune; stretchers bulging with the weight of the elderly and the sick.
>Taking care not to tread on anyone, or barge them out of the way, you continue moving down the road.
>The trees and bushes to either side of the road start changing as you walk. They were pruned once upon a time into the shapes of ponies – frozen mid-prance or depicted rearing onto their hind-legs. They’re a mess of bare branches and dark-green leaves, now, the shapes blurred beyond all recognition. Black ivy dangles off them like loose hair falling to the ground.
>And perhaps this would have made sense – could be explained away as all the ponies who might have trimmed them leaving – had not the ones further back along the path, the ones furthest from the Castle and thus least likely to be trimmed, been perfectly alright.
>You sidestep past a black carthorse – two foals and a set of blacksmith’s tools strapped onto his back – and somehow find enough gaps inside the crowd to allow you to go faster, worry biting at your heels.

>The Castle is piecemeal in the distance – a jigsaw left incomplete. Two towers are missing from the skyline – towers you have lived in, slept in, walked through. Flags snap angrily at the air, some of them torn in two and all of Luna’s missing.
>You’ve known something wrong had happened ever since the sky went dark and the moon swallowed the sun. Walking along this jampacked road – ponies still bumping into you as you stare, transfixed, into the distance – has only strengthened it.
>But it hasn’t fully hit you till you rounded the corner and saw. Saw the Castle jagged and broken, the great bridge swaying as an army of ponies swarmed across it. Saw the woodland around it broken in parts and wild in others. Saw the red-light of the setting sun splashing through the castle’s holes.
>It’s one step away from being a ruin, now: its body broken and its people leaving. Most of them are behind you: you’ve been standing still long enough that the bulk of the crowd has passed by and only stragglers remain – still enough to crowd the road, but less dense than was before.
>You take one step forwards, and then another, scenarios running through your head. You’ve been away from the castle for too long to get an accurate idea of what’s going on, but that doesn’t stop you from trying.
>When you’re halfway to the bridge, with the road before you near empty, you break into a run.

>”Halt!”
“I already have! I’ve been halted since you ordered me to halt a whole ten minutes ago. I’ve done the halting and now I want to try the entering.”
>You stamp, impatient, as the guard considers this. Half the moon has passed the horizon and the night is growing cold; you have not been this far north in many years, and you current garb is ill-equipped to the Equestrian chill.
>”Nopony can enter the Castle,” he says eventually, eyeing you up and down from under the brim of his helmet. “Not until the Princess deems it safe for re-entry.”
“Well, then, it seems we are in luck. I am no pony, and am thus free to enter the… Did you say ‘Princess’?”
>”I don’t know what you are, but you’re no pony alright.” His eyes meet yours, narrow and then descend. “You’re like a minotaur runt, but those legs… and that skin. Are you are a bear some wizard shaved and then gave speech as a funny type of joke?”
“I’m human. The Human. Your grandparents may have told you about me. But really: singular ‘Princess’, not plural?.”
>His eyes find yours again. “Classified,” he says.
>You chuckle, head shaking, and run your tongue over your teeth.
“I need to get into that castle.”
>”I’m sorry, sir, but you’re not getting in as long as I’m here.”
>You open your arms wide. ”You’re only giving me the solution to my problem.”
>He smiles, wanly; there are bags under his eyes. “All I have to do is shout, sir, and there’ll be more guards here than anyone – pony or not – could deal with.”
>You nod. ”Any of those guards older than you? Anypony nearby with a beard longer than his knees?” He nods. ”Call them.”
>He leans back, spear taping the wall behind him and scattering sparks from out a nearby torch. “Captain Polish? Visitor out here who wants his arse kicked in by a more elderly guard, sir.”

>You hear a snort followed by the sound of hooves clattering against cobblestone. A white unicorn in silver armour walks into the light.
>”Corporal Breeze? Leave us at once and make sure we’re not disturbed.”
>With a satisfied smirk at you, the pegasus guard who’s been wasting your time strolls off.
>For a silent few minutes, you get the same eyeball treatment from his replacement as you did him.
>And then the Captain speaks: “Never thought I’d see you again, Prince Anonymous.”
>You kneel down, getting a closer look at his face. His skin is wrinkled and his eyes misty, but you’re certain you don’t recognise him.
“I don’t know you, do I?”
>He shakes his head. “No, sire. I was barely even a recruit when you left the city all those years ago.”
>The air before your face turns misty as you exhale. It’s been a lot longer than you thought.
“You know who I am, and given that you’re still calling me sire, you also know what I am. I want inside.”
>He doesn’t say anything.
“Please. I want to see my wife.”
“The Princess won’t let anyone enter, sire. That includes you.”
>You stand. ”The ‘Princess’ still. You guys aren’t going to let anything slip, are you?”
>He blinks up at you, the torchlight bright along his armour. “No.”
“Okay. Okay, look. How many days has it been now since the sky went dark? Ten? Fifteen? Enough time for me to get up here. And have things got better?”
>He doesn’t answer, which leads you to believe your guess it hasn’t is an accurate one; you push onwards:
“And how many years has it been since I left? Enough time for you to grow old, and yet I’m still a prince. It would be the easiest thing in the world for ‘the Princess’ to change that, and yet she hasn’t. She still cares for me, and right now, she needs someone she cares for. Do you want to do what Celestia orders you to do, or do you want to do something that might help make her better?”
>The silence stretches this time, and the background noise rises to fill it: an owl hoots in the distance as the wind rustles sound out from the treetops.
>For a moment, you think you’ll have to knock him out to get in.
>And then he steps aside.

>You nod your thanks and walk through the archway behind him. You’ve reached the door by the time he starts speaking.
>”She banished her sister, sire. I’m not sure that this is something anyone could hope to make better.”
>You pause.
>Luna’s gone. Celestia’s banished your sister-in-law – her sister, the little Lu.
>Just how much has changed over the years for something like that to happen?
>You shake your head and enter the Castle.
>The first thing you notice is the dust that covers everything and the cobwebs dangling from the ceiling; the next is the burnt out torches still in their places and the bits of rubble along the floor.
>It seems ‘Nopony enters’ was an order that was kept.
>The door closes behind you, and the moonlight through the windows becomes the only light to see by. Everything turns silver under it: doubled up with moon-shadow.
>You walk through where the light hits – sometimes through the patches from the windows and sometimes along the blotches made by holes.
>And then you’re by the great, wooden doors that lead to the throne room. You’re surprised to see that both are still intact.
>You push one open as quietly as you can, slip inside, look up, and there she is.
>She’s slumped upon her throne: her neck’s curved down and her eyes are tight shut. Her crown is not upon her head, and her mane looks torn and dirty, parts of it still flowing whilst yet more of it hangs lifeless. The moon is bright in the wall-gap next to her, and the horned head stamped upon it is still a strange sight to your eyes.
>Great chunks of ceiling form the floor; the stars twinkle down through the corresponding holes. The plinth that usually holds the Elements is up, and it is empty – stone balls rest where the crystal once spun like shoddy replacements made by a child trying not to get in trouble.

>Picking a path through the debris, you walk slowly towards her.
>You’re nearly at the throne when she decides to start speaking.
>”I thought I made it clear that I was never to be disturbed?”
>You stop before you reach the steps up to the throne.
“Hey you.”
>She doesn’t stiffen, but you’re close enough to see her breath hitch.
>”And I thought I told you never to come back.”
“From what I remember, you only told me to do that because I never followed a word you said.”
>”You followed it for forty years. Forty long, long years.” She opens her eyes. “I needed you.”
>The coat beneath her eyes is the grey-white of damp – she’s obviously been crying – but the expression on her face right now is nothing short of rage.
>And as stupid as it sounds, that’s good. An angry Celestia always leads to a repentant one; a sad Celestia leads only to a spiral of depression that you’ve never been able to break her out of.
“I know you did, Tia. I know. And I’m sorry – really. I… I didn’t think anything would happen that needed me to be here. And being out there, in the world… It was like when we were young. Everything seemed new.”
>She bares her teeth at you. “Leave. Now.”
>You take a step up the stairs towards her. ”No. No, I think I’ve had enough of leaving. I’m staying with you.”
>She pants out a series of aborted chuckles and shakes her head, mane getting in her eyes. “I waited. I waited so long for you to do this, to finally get over your stupid pride and come back home to me, and, as usual, you only choose to do it when I need you the least.”
>You don’t respond to that, but only take a few steps further up the stairs. You’re halfway to her when her head turns and her glare bores into your eyes.
>”It’s your fault.”

>You pause; her voice sounds dangerous, low and with gaps inside it where her throat refuses to work.
“What’s my fault?”
>“My sister’s betrayal. The despair she felt for years; all those thoughts that nopony loved her. This –” Her wings spread wide behind her and dust motes soar across the room “– all of this! If you had been here, none of this would’ve happened! But no, you had to go gallivanting off around the world after our stupid little argument rather than being here for her, rather than listening to her when she told you how alone she felt, rather than –” there are tears inside her eyes, now, and she’s no longer looking at you “– telling her she’s being silly and dismissing all her fears like I… I did…”
>You rush up the steps and catch her before she fully slumps down; you tuck her head under your chin and cradle her body in your arms. The thin fabric of your clothing makes it all the easier to feel her against you – feel how thin she is; the coldness of her, colder even than you; how wet her eyes are as she trembles in your grasp.
>”I’m sorry –”
“Shh… It’s okay. I’m here.”
>“No, I… I didn’t mean –”
“It’s okay. I don’t think anyone ever means an argument. We can talk more about how much of a bastard I am if it makes you feel better. God knows I deserve it.”
>She sniffles and tucks her head back under yours. “I missed you so much. I miss her so much.”
>You look over to the blue throne not ten feet away from you. You’re desperate to ask what happened – and just why it happened – but you’re also not stupid enough to. That would only make things worse right now.
“We could always talk about that time I lost your horseshoes in the Everfree. You’ve always been cross at me for that.”
>It feels like she hiccups against your chest. “It doesn’t work if I know what you’re doing, you know.” Her voice is heavy, nearly broken.
>You run your left hand round her tummy, fingers playing with the coat swirls and rubbing off the dirt; your right strokes through her mane, easing out the tangles between her multicoloured strands.
“As long as I can keep you talking, it’s more than doing it’s job.”

>You nuzzle your face down into hers, rubbing cheeks and hairs together. She responds, rubbing back, her tears hot and wet along your forehead.
>She smells of sweat and dirt at the moment – like some animal you’d find exhausted on the savanna. Her natural scent – a weird vanilla mixed with talcum – is more than covered up by it.
”You stink.”
>Hot breath snorts against your neck.
>”You shaved.”
“You know I only grow the beard out ‘cause you like it. Any excuse I get to free my neck, I take.”
>She hums as she nuzzles you; her horn scrapes roughly along your forehead. Her lips find yours and you kiss – a strange mix of gentleness and force, her body pushing into you whilst her lips almost hold back.
>You break it first, but don’t move away. The air between you grows warm as you allow your breaths to mingle.
“Funny way of saying ‘I forgive you’.”
>”I don’t,” she whispers. “You’ll have to grow a beard for that.”
>You smile and kiss her again. If she’s joking, she’s feeling better. You decide to risk moving things on.
“The Ambassador’s bedroom’s free, I take it? Is it still the one just down the hall?”
>She pulls away and breaks the closeness; pink-purple eyes gaze into yours.
>”I’m not leaving this room, Anonymous”
“O my tired, smelly, unwashed Princess. You’re either walking out of here, or I’m carrying you.”
>Her breathing rate hitches, then grows faster. “I haven’t been here long enough! I’m not ready yet or safe to leave, and –”
“I think you’ve mourned enough, Tia. Equestria needs you.”
>Her mouth opens and then closes; her eyes do likewise, except they remain shut. She nods.
>You break the embrace and move backwards. Her standing is a wobbly thing – her legs are shaking and her head’s still bowed. You support her as best as you are able, letting her lean her weight upon you. She’s lighter than you remember, and that worries you more than it probably should.
>She leans on you all the way out, long after her walking’s stable. You keep a hand on her at all times, and you make sure that it never stops moving, never stops touching her. And together, you leave the broken throne room behind.

>The Ambassador’s room is fortunately still intact; even more fortunately, the bed is big enough to fit you both, and whatever magic powers the hot water is still functional.
>As much steam pours from out the tap as water. You’re generous with the bubble mixture, pouring as much in as you can without saturating the water and making it look like the room’s under snow. Eventually, the bath is full.
>You pull your clothes off and throw them back into the bedroom.
“It’s done, Tia. One steaming bubble bath with your own personal handwasher.”
>Celestia – looking small without her jewelry and almost skewbald with the dirt patches on her coat – watches from the door, her mane slumped around her head. She moves forwards almost skittishly, like a child afraid of a parent’s discipline: despondent and quiet.
>She lifts a hoof up and dips it into the bathwater, and then shivers as it sinks in. A moment passes, and then her other foreleg joins in; you ruin a hand along her back, bundling up her mane in the other and lowering it into the water.
“Good?”
>She nods, and the silence presses in.
>Her hindlegs and tail enter, and you follow after them, hissing a breath as the hot water laps at your skin. The soap suds rise up to just below your privates.
“Tia? Celestia?”
>She doesn’t look at you. She hasn’t said a word since the two of you left the throne room.
>You’re worried, and when you get worried, you have to do something. Your hand reaches for the soap balanced next to the shampoo at the bathtub’s lip.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
>She sighs, and one eye peeks at you from out the curtains of her mane.
>“It’s… distressing that there isn’t a word meaning both yes and no.”
>You slather the soap onto her back, hands becoming white under the foam. Your hands massage loose her tired muscles and wash away the grime.
“You might be thinking of maybe.”
>”No. No, I’m not. It’s… I want you to know, but I don’t want to tell you. Does that make sense?”
“It makes perfect sense, love. You only tell me if you want to. I can wait.”
>That’s a lie, but it’s one you’re more than willing to tell.

>Celestia eventually sits as you carry on washing her, her haunches and tail lost beneath the water. You sit behind her, keeping yourself close and your hands busy. Her eyes are closed tight, though sometimes, you think you can see her smile.
>There was no brush or comb inside the bathroom, and you’re not willing to leave her alone long enough to go looking. You do the best job you can of sorting out her mane using only your fingers, but it’s a fool’s errand: her hairs are long, dirty and tangled, and you can only really change one of those things.
>”I think I’m ready.”
>Her voice is quiet, but the bathroom makes it echo loud. You don’t speak, but keep on washing her, waiting for her to talk.
“My Little Sister… Luna approached me often throughout the years. She was concerned over the preference our subjects showed towards the daytime. Over how much more it… I was mentioned in the songs and legends. That ‘Princess’ was becoming my title more and more as the years went on.
>”I told her that jealousy was unbecoming of a princess. I ignored her when she needed me most. I failed to be a true sister to her.”
>You’re fairly sure she’s making herself seem more at fault here than she truly is: she’s too guilty at the moment to give a truly objective account. You hold your tongue, however, and wait for her to carry on.
>”And then one day, she decided she’d had enough. That she wasn’t going to stand in my shadow any longer and… I drove her there. I let her fall into darkness and did nothing to truly help her.”
>You catch the meaning of that adverb: ”Truly?”

>She shifts in front of you and lies down inside the water, head and bum poking out like weird islands in a foam sea.
>”Luna always did love tricking other ponies. I tried to draw that side out of her, tried to make it into a competition between the two of us, but I fear it only made things worse.”
>You straddle her, a layer of foam preserving your dignity, and knead your fingers into the join between her neck and her back. Her breathing calms for your troubles.
“That’s something, Tia. That’s not sitting idly by.”
>’It’s more than I did,’ you don’t say.
>”It wasn’t enough.”
“Maybe nothing would have been.”
>”I… perhaps. But maybes are unimportant: what is important is what happened.
>”She bloted out the sun. Destroyed half the castle. Attacked me. And when I used the Elements of Harmony against her, she… she became one with the moon.
>”I don’t think she’s coming back, Anonymous.” She’s not crying, but the way her eyes are looking, you think she might start soon. “The magic of the Elements of Harmony is too strong for her to be able to break free. She’ll be trapped up there forever, and it’s all my fault.”
>You hug her, even though it means lying down on top of her. She sniffles as you squeeze and her head bobs as she swallows.
>”And now I am the only defender of Equestria. Luna has been banished and something happened to the Elements of Harmony in the doing of it: the sixth one disappeared and the rest all turned to stone. The forest is growing wilder without the protective magic of the elements, and the castle is falling to pieces.”
“Then I guess we’d better make this our last night here.”
>You move up to her ear and kiss beneath it, softly. Her head presses against yours.
“I could talk about what the world outside Equestria is like if you want, Tia. It’s changed; it’s changed so much you wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”
>Her reply’s so quiet you nearly miss it: “Is it ever wise to talk about the other woman with your wife?”
>To that, you have no answer.

>It’s not long later till bathtime ends. A more clean-looking Celestia steps out of the tub, sides slick and shining with water. You grab a towel and slowly rub her down.
>Her mane and tail are harder things to deal with: you end up bundling her mane up in a towel and carrying the tail yourself.
>Candles formed from magic light the way, filling the room with spheres of orange light. Most are round the bed, a large and ornate piece of work designed to impress whomever slept here.
>Celestia heads straight for the bed, horn glowing as the covers float into the air. She climbs onto it, turns and then removes the towel from her head. Her mane falls down every which way, hiding her face from view. You spread her tail – slightly damp – out on the bed behind her, letting it dry inside the air.
>You hesitate for a moment at the bedside, unsure of whether or not she’ll still want you to sleep with her, and unsure if you deserve to. She’s not the only one feeling guilty tonight, but she is the only one feeling guilty over just one pony. Her earlier words have a ring of truth to them – things might have been different had you still been here.
>One word’s enough to break it: “Anon?”
>She needs you to be some form of together for her, even if that means lying. You climb up next to her, beneath the floating blankets.
“I’m here.”
>You rest a hand upon her side and guide her into lying down. Her body snuggles up next to yours, foreheads touching and mouths mere inches apart.
>”I’m glad you’re here,” she murmurs.
>You smile and stroke her mane. ”I love you too, Tia.”
>It only takes a few moments for her to fall asleep – whatever she was doing inside the throne room besides grieving, it certainly wasn’t sleep. The candles follow a few moments later, winking out of existence as the spells that made them unravel into naught.
>And then you sit inside the dark, thoughts and guilts and could-have-beens running through your head till tiredness drags you too to sleep.