Students of Heaven - Chapter 3

3 - Volte-face

Castle of the Two Sisters
c1100 years ago

Sight, sound, smell, touch, taste, and resonance: the six senses my ponies know from the moment their lives begin. They see the clouds in my sky, and feel my sun on their backs. The smell of my bountiful harvests fills their nostrils, and the clear sweetness of my waters soothes their taste buds, as the touch of their lovers in the dark soothes their souls. Resonance, the sense of magic, sprinkles itself among the entrees of the other five as a spice, adding its own exotic flavors at unexpected moments.

My own senses are keener, and broader than those of anypony. My sight is sharper, and not limited to my eyes. The mere physical vibrations of a medium are not the only things I can hear. I smell time, taste color, and can expand and attune my senses in ways and directions for which my children have no concept, let alone words, yet I rarely do. How could my ponies relate to the sound of a rose's perfume? Or the simultaneously piercing and caressing haptόs which accompanies the sight-image of the song it sings in my winds?

No, for their sake, I reign in my perceptions, limiting them to the rough kinds and keenness with which they are familiar, but I do enjoy stretching out from time to time; Luna and I walk toward the throne room, and I do so now.

I can hear them first; the distant, distorted conversations, and echoes of hooves on my floors swells with, rather than drowning out the rhythm of our own hoofsteps. Beneath that, the rustle of expensive fabrics on fur, the swishing of drinks and tinkling of gems in my crystal goblets. Laughter, jokes, and stories resolve themselves in my ears. Business deals are being made, and horns are channeling magic. My tables are creaking, and my banners sway minutely from the walls in drafts so fine my keenest scouts would fail to notice were they standing right beside them. Insect's antenna flick behind my stonework, worms burrow in the soil of my castle's garden, and that is only the slightest portion of what greets me.

Next, smell; the nearby scents of stone and cedar are suddenly accompanied by the tantalizing melange of sundry foods, ponies, and the perfumes which they wear. Though they're in the throne room, while we are yet in the private suites behind the backs of our matched royal chairs, I can easily recognize many of the attendees, what they are eating, what they are wearing, and what they wore before dressing for the party. The bouquets clinging to their fur tell me when they bathed, where they live, what parts of the city they visited after leaving their homes, and what roads they took on their way to my castle. I know who is in heat, and who they laid with; I smell the emotions in their hearts and the thoughts in their minds, and still I open my other senses to whatever else may be learned.

As we walk, my mind speeds to drink it all in, and the world seems to slow around me. I allow nothing to escape, snatching each sensation and parsing it to its individual elements, then following them each to their sources, as a spider testing the threads in its web. Every experience, and every moment is a note in my world, harmonizing into a symphony no mortal pony, should they awaken to it, could appreciate, understand, or even survive with their mind intact, though I yet limit myself to those same 6 senses they've known all their lives.

As we approach the arch framing our thrones, our guards beat the stone with the butts of their halberds; an authoritative announcement that we have arrived, and the great hall falls silent. Luna and I split, she trotting to the right, toward her throne, while I go left, to mine. We emerge together from the shrouds of velvet curtains at the shoulder of our respective seats, and my ponies bow.

As one we step, our hooves sounding in time until we stand silhouetted against the backs of our thrones. We linger a moment, surveying our guests, who despite only moments before joyously mingling, and milling about, now stand in stock stillness, heads held respectfully low. Through the panes of the most expensive roof in Equestria – each one hoof-cut crystal, not merely glass – shines the light of sun and moon, together; sharing the sky in celebration! The former shines from far over my head, and the latter above my sister's; it was Luna's idea; an appropriate display for the one who saved Equestria!

With a gesture of my horn, sheathed in gold filigree, Luna's royal voice booms from one end of our throne room to the other. “Hear ye, hear ye! All who gather, stand, and bear witness!” Then, with a stamp of my gold-shod hoof, our guests rise, and move to either side of the rich, red carpet bisecting the hall, and all eyes fall to the Grand Door from which it runs.

At another stamp of my hoof, it opens with a fanfare of trumpets, blaring in triumph and honor. His triumph and honor: a lone unicorn stallion, gray of fur, white of beard, standing tall in starry robes, and a jangling, bell-laden hat. He proudly marches down the carpet toward us. All of my guest's faces turn to follow him, and though I search, I'm pleased to see not a trace of contempt or loathing on any of them; they know what he has done.

Stallions belong in the bedroom or fields.

That's the way it has been for as long as I can remember. It was never a rule of mine, but has been my children's own custom, for as long as I've known them. Even in the days I walked among them before they could think, or speak, I noticed their leaders were always the mares. The stallions then were larger and stronger, as they are now, but then, as now, there were so few. They didn't want to be the alphas, even among their fellow stallions; they yielded authority and status to the mares, and the mares in turn would protect, and take care of them. It was their way, and both sexes seemed mutually content with it.

Usually.

This stallion, was not one of those. He was satisfied to follow matriarchy, yes, but he also wanted to be a leader himself. His magic was potent, and his mind sharp; he wondered at the way of things, yearned for knowledge, and I gave it to him: the very first male student at my school for gifted ponies.

But traditionally, stallions did work in the bedroom, or in the fields, not in government or academia, and the mares were not shy about telling him so. They had said it to his face at first, when as a foal his magical talents began to outshine those of any filly his own age. Then quietly, behind his back when I decided to teach him. Now, they don't say it at all.

He stops before us, kneels. Awe fights with apprehension, itself waging war against joy for control over his face. At last a victor emerges, and he smiles as the music fades.

“Know ye,” Luna erupts at its last note, “that reposing special trust and confidence in the fidelity and abilities of Starswirl the Bearded, we appoint him a Hero of Equestria; to be known as such from this day forth, and we do strictly charge, and require all ponies of lesser station to render appropriate respect thereunto” - she pauses and surveys the room - “his gender not withstanding.” Her echoes die, and it is my turn to speak.

“Starswirl the Bearded, Hero of Equestria, for recognizing and defeating the Three Beasts of Song, receive this medal.” He rises to all fours, and I place around his neck an intricate cameo of our Royal Seal, made of precious stones, and metals, and borne on a fine chain of interlocking gold and silver links. “Stand and be recognized!”

He turns, and as one, they: lead mares with their prize herd members; scholars, soldiers, and mages; nobles and officials; they all bow to him, a first in Equestrian history. I let him savor his moment.

“Now, Hero of Equestria, speak. Name your reward, and if it is within my power, you shall have it.”

______________________________


Canterlot Meadow
That Night

Our queendom lays bathed in Moonlight, turned to silver glow and black shadow. Luna and I lie together in the grass, and she pouts.

“Why did thou do it, Celestia?”

“Sister, please...”

“Celestia. Thou art Celestia, and we are not really sisters. There are no ponies here to pretend for, so stop it, and answer us.” Her tone is harsh, her words, clipped, and I allow myself a small, exasperated sigh. I know she loves me, but her anger and embarrassment that the ponies continue to revere my days more than her nights, makes it so more often than not. My dear Luna, beloved sister, and still petulant and puerile, even after all these years.

But I will not rise to provocations. I will be an example to her, as I am to every pony. Eventually, she will realize how base her behavior is. When that happens, she will need a role model, and who better than I?

“It was what he asked for,” I say, sweet, and mellifluous, more like flowing honey than a pony's voice. Her eyes narrow in irritation.

“But another, like us?”

I hold in another sigh, and focus on my moonlit demesne. “He isn't an Alicorn yet, Sister. He has a long road left to travel before he joins us, if he ever does at all.”

A roll of her eyes. “We know that, Celestia, We worked long and hard before our own seed took root.” The grass rustles, and lays flat as she snorts. She pauses momentarily, scowling at the blades as they spring back up, then lets out an incredulous laugh. “But, Celestia, what will thou do if it comes to pass? Send him to rule one of our protectorates? The Crystal Empire, perhaps?”

I consider a moment. “He isn't a mare...”

“That's right, Celestia, he isn't a mare! They shan't accept him. They still do not believe the Beasts of Song were ever a threat to them. They say if he had not found them first, we would have defeated them - and we would have! They bear him no gratitude, and will chafe at being made to bow to a stallion.

“Even here...” she trails off. My dear Sister's words are sharp, and flung with annoyance. She's right, of course, but why does she have to behave so?

“...He isn't a mare,” I continued as though she had not just interrupted me. “But I believe the job would suit him.”  Luna's brows knit and her ears lay back in an expression of open disbelief.

“They will mock him. And maybe us, too. It is no fault of his, or ours, but the tradition is older than even I know; mares are the leaders, and the protectors, and the scholars. Stallions make foals, and labor. It is The Way.

“He is no duffer, and deserves the honors he was given tonight, but if thou makest anypony, even him their...their prince,” - she scowled for a moment as the word passed her lips - “they'll play along to his face, and ours, but nowhere else. Such an appointment will undermine our legitimacy in their eyes.”

Her face darkens as she speaks, until at last her eyes seem to flash from the the nighttime abyss itself. “But thou knoweth this, dost thou not, Celestia?”

I raise my nose, and let my gaze ooze down upon her. “Meaning what, Sister?”

“Thou art not a fool, Celestia,” - a strange look flits across her face - “but neither are we!” Her voice cracks. “Thou thinketh we have failed! Thou think us delinquent in our duty of the night! Thou seeketh to replace us! To make him steward of moon and stars in our stead!”

That's it? That's why her bile rises so gracelessly at this fait accompli? Oh how she truly is my little Sister. I soften my gaze “Sister, I...”

“DO NOT DENY IT!” she shouts loudly enough for her echo to find us a moment later. For a shocked moment we lay in silence, before her voice quietly continues.

“How strange that thou wouldst choose a male...but his name is so convenient, isn't it?” With disbelief I watch her lips curl in a silent snarl of moon-shadows and dark fur. “Starswirl,” she spat it out like a rotten apple.

Her eyes narrow to gleaming slits, and in a voice so soft nopony could have heard, she whispers “It's to humiliate us, isn't it? That's why you chose a stallion. 'Fields, bedroom, and replacing Luna,' that's what they'll say.”

“Sister!” I interject with lowered head, and nuzzle at her chin. “I will never replace you!” She looks at me, tears welling in her gorgeous eyes. “Look,” I gesture with my snout. “The land, the sky, everything in between. Every rock, every plant, every creature, every pony. I created this world to find you.

“You are my sister. Immortal, powerful, and one day, when you have learned and grown enough, your divinity will be every bit as splendid as my own.” The mask of her fury melts at my words, revealing  pitiful dolor beneath; the face of a pony who thinks she is unappreciated, and unimportant.

My poor little Sister, I know her worries are more than cavils; there would indeed be resistance to a stallion in government, but my power and longevity have given me what she still lacks: perspective. She must be shown that the reason I am not worried is not because I think her concerns foolish, but because I can see beyond them.

“Luna, dear Sister, you are right; if Starswirl ascends, he will not be accepted right away. But we are immortal, and he will be too; we can wait.” With a smile, I look into her eyes as we share breath. Inhale. Exhale. From within my body to hers, and vice versa. “You and I? We will hold Equestria together, hold the world itself together, as long as it takes to change, and change it will. The ponies will follow our example, and slow though it may be, if we accept him, so too will they. Experience tells me it will not be so long as you think.”

Inhale. Exhale. The brush of our muzzles. The scent of my Sister. The warmth of her body.

Inhale. Exhale. I can feel her calming, and lay my foreleg over hers.

“But, Sister. Luna. My dear, beloved sister, what will never change, is my love for you, or your place at my side. You are my sister, my family, forever and always, and I will love you, forever and always.”

Without a word she looks away, gazing blankly toward the horizon. I lay my head across her withers. “Is it time?” she asks without feeling or preamble.

“It's close enough, if you're ready.”

I keep my head on her shoulders as the moon sinks below Equus. We linger. Everything's going to be OK, I know it.

At last I raise my head, and with it the sun, and in the long light of my dawn see that Luna is crying; silent tears falling softly to the grass. Realizing I've seen her she looks back and smiles.”We do love thee, sister. We just wish they loved us, too.”

“They do.”

A moment goes by, and she smiles sadly. Another moment, and with an enthusiasm she was clearly trying to awaken within herself: “We made something for you!”

“Oh?”

“Yes! We noticed something in our nights which all the ponies seem to love: the ornament crafted from thine own sun!”

“An ornament from my sun, for the night?”

Her smile is genuine now, despite her lingering tears. “Mmm!” she nods enthusiastically. “We wish to give it to thee, so thou woudst know the depth of our love. Close thine eyes, my sister.” I smile back at her, and do as she asks. A brief tingle passes through me as her horn brushes my mane. “Open them, and follow us to the pond!”

In the placid spots among the rocks, shielded from the ripples of the falls, the water is clear, and smooth as glass. In its surface, our own faces look back at us; Luna's smile is as bright as my sun, and lit mostly by the light of love within. My own is awestruck at what my Sister has done for me.

“My hair...” I whisper. Instead of the flowing river of subtle pinks I've worn since first donning this shape, a prismatic tapestry of tresses waltzes on imperceptible, ethereal currents. I stare, gape, and then smile at the glamor of her unexpected gift, and my Sister's own well-known beauty which spurred it: inside and out. My dearest Luna, so beautiful, so thoughtful, even now!

“The colors of the aurora, sister; thy sun's own beauty shining in my nights! Thou can suppress it, if thy wish.”

“Why would I ever want to do that?”

“Well...” she looks at the pond as her tail swishes in the kind of sheepish flicks I haven't seen her make for at least a century. “It takes a bit of magic to keep it going. We imparted a little of our own so thou couldst see how it looks, but if it is not kept primed the spell will falter, then break.”

I shake my head, “I don't want to suppress it! I don't want it to falter! I'll wear it with love for you, everyday!” She giggles like the happy little filly she used to be, and rubs her neck against mine.

“Then we'll teach you the spell, but first...”

“First?”

“Come and play with us!” She leaps from the promontory at full gallop, then soars through the calm dawn sky. I am not far behind.