Not long ago, there had been a young unicorn who lost her horn. And when her magic didn’t work the way it used to, she lost her friends. She’d had everything taken from her, lost everything that made her who she was. So she made herself a promise: “Never again”, she’d said.
She had lost her ability to control her own magic, but she’d discovered she had an incredible capacity for endurance. She decided to use that endurance to train what wayward magic remained, and to push her mind and her body to its very limits, and beyond them. Fate had seemed to leave her with only the capacity for destruction, and so she had indulged in it. If she couldn’t find love anymore, then she would instead inspire fear.
It had been a very angry and very lonely existence that had nearly cost her what little she’d had left, until that young unicorn had met another, a unicorn stallion who had everything…and hadn’t hesitated to offer it to the young unicorn. He had cast a light down into the dark pit of misery and loathing that the young unicorn’s life had become, and she had followed it, and him, back out.
She’d worked hard. She’d rebuilt her life. She’d taken a risk and accepted the help of another, and the risk had paid off. She’d become more than a storm of darkness and hate. She made friends. She made a life for herself. She had continued to push on in spite of her crippling injury.
All so that she could end up right back where she started.
Fizzlepop could hear her heart pounding like a hammer in her chest. Cold sweat covered her shaking limbs as her hind hooves tried to push her back against a wall, while her front hooves held on to – to – to something – trying to hide it from all sight. Her right eye was closed, searing agony cutting across it, while her left was wide open. And a horn that wasn’t there anymore somehow managed to send spasms of pain down its phantom length, across her skull, and down a spine that had turned to jelly.
There was no rational part of her mind left right now. There was only her open left eye staring at where the bear, the giant bear’s head, the blue translucent ursine horror had been. Its roar still echoed in her ears. She wanted to run, her four limbs demanded she run, but she was two stories up and trapped in a small box. And so instead she hid in the dark theater as best she could, pressed herself into a corner, pushed the thing she held even more into it, and struggled for breath even as she tried to keep the sound of her breathing as quiet as possible.
It felt like an eternity before Fizzlepop realized the thing she was holding onto was moving, and several more seconds after that before she recognized it as struggling, trying to get out of her grasp. She held on tighter at first, out of instinct, before glancing down. She saw a blue unicorn, not fully a mare but no longer a filly, pushing against her and trying to escape…
Trixie. Fizzlepop let out a gasp, letting go of her, staring dumbly at the other unicorn. Trixie’s eyes were wide in fright. Her horn lit up pinkish-blue, and Fizzlepop was dimly aware of the door to the theater box being closed. There was no bear in the hallway…no bear in the theater, either. Although Fizzlepop could still hear it growling, a rumbling echo through her skull – her ears flicked and head snapped towards every sound, every tiny bit of noise, but none of them were out of place in the theater.
She felt hooves grabbing either side of her helmet and pulling it off. She turned back to Trixie. The young mare was talking, or her lips were moving anyway, but Fizzlepop couldn’t hear it over the sound of her own heart, over the trembling of her limbs, over…
Fizzlepop flinched at the feeling of a hoof smacking her cheek, while Trixie inhaled sharply. “Ow!” the young unicorn exclaimed, staring at her own hoof. “Zut alors! Why did that hurt me?”
Fizzlepop ignored Trixie, shaking her head, trying to get her breathing under control even as she looked around, assessing the situation, trying to force her mind to work. The door to the theater box was closed and locked. Standing on trembling hooves, Fizzlepop found that the theater was still mostly empty, the intermission still on. A few ponies had returned to their seats, or never left them, but none looked to the Princess’ box. They hadn’t noticed the
giant bear looming over Fizzlepop, its paw swiping down at her, blinding pain as her horn snapped and white-hot agony across her face as a claw cut her and she was sent flying and rolling and
Fizzlepop put her hooves to her mouth, stifling a cry of terror. Her hooves trembled fiercely still, her whole body shook. She distantly noted how lucky it was that she’d already used the lavatory…
“Fizzlepop?” Trixie asked, getting in front of her as she fell back onto her haunches, just trying to breathe. “Officer Berrytwist? Are…are you okay?”
The older unicorn looked down to the younger one. One hoof reached out, fumbling for and grabbing her helmet, though she didn’t put it back on yet, instead clutching it tightly to herself. Her mind raced, replaying what had just happened. Trixie and Prince’s fight. Prince following them. Fizzlepop about to drag Trixie into the theater box and lock out Prince, but Trixie had been angry, her horn had glowed, and…
Fizzlepop’s eyes narrowed. A very small part of her remembered Prince’s own bodyguard grabbing his charge and running off in shock. Neither had been privy to Fizzlepop’s reaction. It didn’t make her feel better in the slightest. “You…” she spat, bile in her throat as she threw her helmet aside and stood up. Trixie’s eyes went wide. “That was…you…you did that!”
Trixie fell away from Fizzlepop as she started advancing on still-shaking limbs. “Ah-Ah’m sorry!” she exclaimed. “Ah just wanted…just wanted Prince t’ go away! Ah didn’…Ah didn’ mean…” She’d backed up against the wall of the box herself. “Ah’m sorry!”
Fizzlepop leaned down, getting so close to Trixie that their muzzles almost touched, broken horn sparking, and glared sheer contempt into Trixie’s eyes, her soul. “We’re leaving,” she hissed, then spun around. She found herself readying a hind hoof, sure that Trixie was about to argue or object, so Fizzlepop would raise a hoof as though to buck, scare the little misbehaving reprobate out of her wits, maybe even actually kick…she’d pull up short, of course, but maybe with her shaking she’d misjudge and hit anyway and maybe that wouldn’t be so bad…
But no objections were forthcoming. Fizzlepop glanced back. Trixie was standing still, shuddering herself, eyes wide and full of tears…but she sucked in a deep breath, shook her head, and shifted her hat. “O…oui,” she agreed, trudging forward and past Fizzlepop, towards the door.
Fizzlepop stared at her, taking in a few deep breaths of her own. She wanted to try and hold them, but her lungs wouldn’t let her. “W…wait!” she exclaimed before Trixie could reach up towards the lock. “Wait…I’m sorry, I’m…we don’t have to leave. I just…I need a moment.”
Trixie looked back to her, wiping away her tears. She nodded, but didn’t say anything. Fizzlepop tried to ignore her, the look she was getting from her, as she trotted over to and settled down into the rear-right seat. She closed her eyes, or started to, but images of blue fur and sharp claws and stars lurked behind her eyelids. So instead she picked a point on the floor and stared at it.
Eventually, her ears flicked as she heard movement. Trixie had moved up to the front-right seat, but rather than sitting on it was standing, forelegs resting on its back as she looked to Fizzlepop. “Ah’m sorry,” she said.
“I know.”
Trixie bit her lip. Her eyes danced over Fizzlepop’s still-exposed face, the scar on her eye, her broken horn. She’d put it all together at last, not that it would have taken a genius to do so at this point. “It…it was a bear, wasn’t it?”
Fizzlepop cast her eyes down again, and nodded in confirmation. She was basically right, anyway. The full details of the Ursa Minor didn’t matter. It was ursine. It had broken her and scarred her, and not just her body, as the last few minutes had proven. The worst part was that Trixie hadn’t even conjured up an Ursa Minor…just a bear. It had been blue and translucent because it had been quickly summoned up without much thought put into it. That it looked like an Ursa was nothing but a coincidence…and still it had reduced Fizzlepop to a quivering mess.
“Ah’m sorry,” Trixie repeated. “Ah…Ah just wanted to scare Prince away. So Ah thought a’ somethin’ scary…b-but Ah didn’t mean t’ scare you. Ah didn’ think Ah could. Night Guard, y’know? You don’ really think a’ y’all gettin’ scared, since y’all look scary t’ begin with.”
Fizzlepop nodded, shifting in her seat. She couldn’t get comfortable despite the plushness of the cushion beneath her, probably because of the spasms that still cut through her body, the adrenaline leaving her system only slowly. She took in a shuddering breath and forced herself to hold it for as long as she could, then exhaled it over the course of a full thirty seconds.
“Root beer,” Trixie said, hopping down from the seat.
“What?”
Trixie trotted over to Fizzlepop’s discarded helmet, picking it up and bringing it back over to the older mare. “Ah think we need more root beer floats. We still got a few minutes ‘fore the intermission ends.” She held forward the helmet. “Please?”
Fizzlepop stared at the helmet for a moment, looking at her own reflection in it as she took it into her hooves. She looked awful, her eyes bloodshot, fur matted around her cheeks from where tears had flowed over them, except around her scar where the fur had never quite grown back in right…
But the helmet would hide all of that, and Trixie was right: Fizzlepop desperately needed something sweet and cold and bubbly right now. She slipped it on, for the first time in a long time feeling grateful for the illusion that shimmered over her form. She got up from her seat, taking in another breath and standing up straight. “We are going to ignore Prince, and everypony else,” she insisted.
Trixie started to agree, but then frowned as she looked down to herself. “If’n he starts somethin’…Ah know me. What Ah’m like.” Fizzlepop started to try and put together some argument to get the young mare to behave, but Trixie shook her head. She took off her cape and hat, retrieved her money purse, then threw her clothes onto the nearby seat. She passed the money purse to Fizzlepop, her horn glowed pink-blue…and she suddenly disappeared. Fizzlepop’s eyes widened, but before she could do anything Trixie’s voice spoke up. “Ah’m invisible,” she said. Fizzlepop felt a hoof on her withers, though she didn’t see anything.
The Night Guard considered, as she tucked Trixie’s money purse into her armor. “I can’t do a good job protecting you if I can’t see you,” she noted, but shook her head as she got down onto her knees and hocks. “But if it will keep you away from Prince, fine. Climb on my back, I’ll carry you.”
Fizzlepop almost expected an argument; instead, she heard a slight giggle, and felt Trixie’s weight settle across her back, the filly’s forehooves squeezing against her shoulders. Tired and hurting as she was, she was still strong, at least for a unicorn. She could certainly make it to the concessions area and back, anyway.
Moving helped with her adrenaline, at least, gave her muscles something to do besides spasm and shake. Trixie opened the door with her telekinesis, and the two slipped out. “This is mah own custom invisibility spell,” Trixie provided as Fizzlepop trotted, and she could hear the pride in Trixie’s voice. “See, normally, invisibility spells just bend light ‘round the pony. But that creates a blur if’n you look real close. So’s I figured out a way t’ get light t’ pass through me – ”
“There isn’t much point in being invisible if you’re going to talk,” Fizzlepop admonished. Trixie fell silent at that, and Fizzlepop thought she heard her pouting. She turned her head slightly to glance over her shoulder. She saw only empty air, but she imagined Trixie would meet her eye. “Just following the Princess’ orders,” she noted.
She felt Trixie perk up at that, her tail wishing and accidentally brushing against her own. “Oh, oui,” the filly whispered. “To help mah magic…right, Ah’ll be quiet once we get down t’ concessions. Oh, but Ah’ll do magic for you.” Fizzlepop saw a glow appear over her illusory horn, and a nearby potted plant was wrapped momentarily in turquoise magic that matched Fizzlepop’s eye color.
Fizzlepop stopped in her tracks, staring at the illusion of her own magic being back. The magic suddenly cut out as Trixie gasped. “M-mo chagren! Ah didn’ think, it’s just that Ah’m on your back so’s you can’t balance a tray there…”
Fizzlepop was still only a moment more, before shaking her head and continuing her trot. “No. You’re right, it makes sense.”
She hurried her pace so that Trixie didn’t have any more time to respond, though she couldn’t keep her head from hanging just a bit. Illusion magic, she decided, was cruel. Between the glamor that made her look like she had a horn and Trixie just now giving her a glimpse of something she’d never really be able to do again, not with any kind of control…
But Trixie had meant well. Fizzlepop struggled to remember that as they returned to the concessions, making their way over to the bar. By now ponies were starting to file back into the theater, but they cleared a path for the Night Guard easily enough. Three ponies that hadn’t yet moved, however, were the three young nobles Prince had picked up – and Fizzlepop would have to move past their table to get to the soda bar. Fizzlepop held her breath. Being seen was inevitable, but hopefully she wouldn’t be spoken to, and she was ultimately just a guard and so meant to be ignored…
…and for the first time today, something went her way. The nobles looked to her, but saw that Trixie wasn’t in tow and so promptly ignored her presence. She let out her held breath, tuning out the nobles’ conversation as she waited in line for root beer. In spite of everything, she couldn’t stop herself from licking her lips a little, a sensation of bubbles already tickling her throat. The phantom feeling was actually a welcome one for a change, and for just a moment she was thinking about things other than bears and her horn and her inadequacy.
Of course, no sooner had she paid for the floats then she noticed that Trixie was gripping her unusually tightly. Her eyes widened when she thought she heard Trixie quietly retching. She went to get Trixie off her back, but Trixie’s grip tightened further. “Ah’m fine,” she whispered in Fizzlepop’s ear. “Just…hurry up, tanpri. Ah don’ want to be out here no more.”
Fizzlepop turned back to the soda jerk, about to ask him to step it up, but even as she did the two root beer floats appeared before her. Her illusory horn started glowing and a matching aura wrapped around both of them, lifting them up. Fizzlepop set off immediately, mind whirling. Was Trixie using too much magic – overchanneling? She was a prodigy in her own way, but still young. She had her magical limits just like anypony else, and crossing them would be as dangerous for her as any unicorn. But the auras around the root beers seemed to be strong and steady. Maybe she was just physically ill? Hot sauce in floats and mustard on peanuts would surely unsettle any stomach…
Fizzlepop managed to stop herself from outright galloping back to the private box and slipping inside. As soon as they were inside, Trixie slid from her back, reappearing in a cloud of pinkish-blue smoke as the auras around the floats took up the same coloration.
Trixie set them down on one of the tables before Fizzlepop could say anything, trotted over to the closest seat, stuck her head into its pillow, and screamed. The Night Guard was beside her in an instant, taking off her helmet and putting a hoof on the young mare’s back. “Trixie?” She asked. “What’s wrong?”
Trixie finished her muffled scream, and looked back up. She did look a little exhausted from maintaining the invisibility spell, the glamor of a glow around Fizzlepop’s horn, and changing the color of her telekinesis. But Fizzlepop hadn’t been expecting to also find anger. “Nothin’. Ah was listenin’ to Buttercup an’ Silver an’ Ribbon while we was waitin’, is all. You weren’t?” Fizzlepop shook her head, and Trixie groaned, rubbing her eyes with her hooves. “They was talkin’ ‘bout how Prince left. Seemed t’ think that Ah must have a bunch a’ Night Guards in the shadows an’ scared him off. An’ they was debatin’ whether or not he deserved it. See, ‘cause Ah was the stupid pony who didn’t even know Ah’d asked him out on a date.” Trixie sank to the floor, hooves on her head. “They’re right. It wasn’t exactly some big scheme Ah fell for. Ah was just stupid.”
Fizzlepop decided to keep the fact that she somewhat agreed that Trixie really should have known what she was doing to herself. She found herself reaching out a hoof, putting it on Trixie’s withers. “It’s…a lesson,” she said. “Learn from it.”
“Oui. Ah know.”
“I’m not going to say that it isn’t important to meet other ponies’ standards, sometimes. But what’s more important is meeting your own. Don’t forget that.”
“Ah won’t. Oh, but it gets better, see, ‘cause they was also talkin’ ‘bout the fact that now both me an’ Prince are single.” Trixie shivered. “An’ the Grand Gallopin’ Gala is commin’ up, so’s they were tryin’ t’ figure out if any a’ them should ask one a’ us out, an’ then Silver brought up maybe the after-party somethin’ might happen, an’…” she shivered again, then retched, hooves at her mouth. “Ugh.”
“Not into mares?” Fizzlepop asked.
“Not into ponies,” Trixie corrected. “Not like that, anyway…ugh.”
Fizzlepop suppressed a chuckle, retrieving her helmet and slipping it back on. Well, if their conversation had turned to such matters, at least it meant that for all the pretention of the three nobles, they were still teenagers. It was a comforting thought, in a strange way. “I’m guessing you haven’t ever gone into heat yet. You’ll probably change your tune soon enough.”
“Jamais! Not for anythin’.”
Fizzlepop had her doubts, but didn’t voice them. At least Trixie wasn’t ill from the food she ate, or on the verge of an overchannel coma. She retrieved the two floats, putting one before Trixie. “Thanks for the soda,” she said, also returning Trixie’s money purse.
Trixie looked her float over. “No hot sauce...” she moaned, but shook her head. “Mais, Ah guess Ah can have a borin’ drink.”
“There’s five different kinds of berries!” Fizzlepop objected before she could stop herself. She was pretty sure she felt a small prick of pain from her cutie mark.
Trixie smiled up at her, sticking out her tongue as she retrieved her hat and cape, put them back on, and took up her float. “An’ no hot sauce. A little bit a’ everythin’ makes a better soup!”
“These aren’t soups.”
“Oui. But the principle’s the same.” Trixie sat back down on the front-center seat, root beer float in hoof. “Maybe Ah get you t’ try sauce in your own float some day.”
Fizzlepop took a moment to lock the door to the box, then took her own seat to Trixie’s right. “Maybe,” she allowed. The lights were starting to dim and the orchestra ponies were finishing their warm-ups. It wouldn’t be long before the play resumed. As the darkness closed around her, Fizzlepop thought she heard a growl...but she closed her eyes and folded her ears, recognizing that the growl was just in her mind, a wraith left over from Trixie’s illusion. She took a long drink from her root beer float, focusing on that, on the tingles of the soda mixing with the sweetness of the berries.
“Fizzlepop?” Trixie asked.
“Yeah?”
“Ah know Ah shouldn’t have...done what Ah did. But when Ah did make...what Ah made...” Fizzlepop opened her eyes and glanced over, and saw Trixie twirling her hooves around each other awkwardly. “Mais, Ah heard a little a’ what you an’ Captain Armet were talkin’ ‘bout. And when you saw mah illusion...yeah, you was scared. But you grabbed me an’ tried t’ protect me from it all the same, even though you thought it was real. You really are a good bodyguard.”
Fizzlepop considered. She hadn’t known how much of the conversation Trixie had overhead...that was the problem with letting a pony talented in illusions wander around Canterlot Castle. Frankly it was an absurd security risk, mitigated largely only by the fact that Trixie would find most meetings boring and the Princess’ own divination talents. But from the sound of things, Trixie had heard enough of Fizzlepop’s review to form an opinion on it. “My dedication was never being questioned,” she said, looking down at her float. “My ability was.”
“Oui. But Ah just wanted t’ remind you.” Trixie looked at her own float. “That’s why Ah asked for you. Normally it’s more fun t’ torment Shining Armor.” Her frank admission of that would have surprised Fizzlepop had she not spent hours with the young mare. “But you needed somepony t’ say you looked tough.”
Fizzlepop scoffed. “So, what, this whole thing was for my benefit?”
“Non, Ah wanted t’ see the play, an’ see your face and guess what happened t’ you ‘cause Ah was curious, an’ everythin’ else. But if’n you got helped too, that’s good, oui? It was a spur a’ the moment thing. Didn’t even really think ‘bout it.” She looked back to Fizzlepop. “Like you when you protected me.”
Fizzlepop contemplated Trixie’s words in silence for several long moments. Finally, just before the orchestra swelled again, she looked back to Trixie. “Thank you.”
Trixie smiled back. It wasn’t like any other smile she’d had that night — it was smaller, but a lot more honest. “Il y a pas de quoi.” she remembered herself after a moment, and added, “you’re welcome.”
Fizzlepop has once heard a visiting griffin dignitary complain that pony plays tended to put the intermissions in the wrong spot — usually, at a high point of triumph rather than a low point of despair. He’d theorized that it was due to the saccharine nature of pony literature, and the suspicion that if a play placed its halfway point at a dark moment, ponies would demand refunds, or bury themselves in a hole.
He’d then had to explain that last phrase as the griffin equivalent of “throw themselves from the roof”, a largely empty gesture for a race that was entirely winged. Somepony had pointed out that the griffins hurling themselves from roofs might not spread their wings so she didn’t see why the phrase needed to be different. The griffin had retorted that of course there was no need, but that wasn’t the point, the point was for most griffins not spreading their wings after leaping off a roof was simply not an intuitive thought, and also that didn’t have anything to do with pony plays being poorly paced. A pegasus had commented that his sister had once forgotten to flap when she was younger, although fortunately she’d landed in a bush and been unhurt. The griffin, exasperated, called everypony present as cultured as a bird from Nekulturniberg. Nopony had known what that was, and asked after it.
Fizzlepop has learned that day that she could take a griffin ambassador in a fight, which given their militaristic culture was actually fairly impressive. The same culture had nearly seen her married to the bird since she had been off-duty at the time (which Fizzlepop was still fuzzy on the significance of). All in all, it had been an eventful first week in the Guard.
In any event, the trade-off was that the second half of pony plays tended to have things go downhill fast. Don Rocinante was no exception in this regard. As Fizzlepop watched, the hoodlums that Rocinante had defeated came to while he was away. He had convinced the jaded tavern wench and prostitute Dulcinea that they were to be cared for; as defeated enemies, they deserved honor and respect, and though it went against her better judgement, Rocinante’s way of viewing the world was getting through to Dulcinea.
But the defeated ponies had neither honor nor respect. They had woken up, taken stock of the situation, seen that Rocinante had left the inn that he believed to be a castle, and so turned on Dulcinea - beat her, and if Fizzlepop was interpreting correctly the artistic flourishes of the “Little Bird” song they sang and the violent way they lay her on a table and surrounded her, did worse as well. Dulcinea survived, at least, but Fizzlepop found herself shifting uncomfortably and clutching her root beer float tighter. When she had been alone, after the Ursa but before Shining Armor...she’d never suffered an assault like this, but close calls had happened before she’d learned to defend herself, that her horn’s uncontrollable magic could be weaponized and turned against those who tried to hurt her. Which as far as she had been concerned at the time, was everypony.
Don Rocinante, meanwhile, had left the inn/castle, and contemplated his new knighthood, unaware of what had happened to Dulcinea. He encountered a small herd of wandering donkeys, who took him in and gave him succor while on the road...and took advantage of his delusions to make off with his armor, his weapon, and all his possessions, leaving Rocinante a naked and frail old pegasus. He had no choice but to turn around and return to the inn.
And it was there that everything truly fell apart. Dulcinea returned as well, bruised and ashamed, and though Rocinante swore to avenge her she instead threw her true history and nature into his face, blamed him for her misery for letting her glimpse a life she could never have. She demanded Rocinante see her as the wench and prostitute that she really was. Rocinante, however, still in his madness could see only a fair maiden.
Before anything else could be said, another knight entered - the Knight of the Mirrors, or so he claimed, a form of the Enchanter that Rocinante swore was his greatest enemy. He insulted Dulcinea and Rocinante challenged him to a duel. The Knight and his retainers accepted, and fought Rocinante with brightly mirrored shields, the glare blinded Rocinante, and the Enchanter hurled insults at Rocinante, used the mirrors to force him to see himself as the world saw him, a tired old pony, bereft of sanity, something to be pitied and scorned.
Rocinante collapsed, weeping. The Knight of the Mirrors revealed himself to actually be a doctor that had shown up intermittently throughout he play, trying to cure Rocinante of his madness and bring him back to his family. A noble goal, maybe. But impossibly, Fizzlepop found herself hating the doctor more than she did any other character in the play — more than the donkeys, more than the ponies who had assaulted Dulcinea. The doctor’s shattering of Rocinante’s delusion was heart-wrenching, a theft of pure innocence and simple naïveté. Fizzlepop felt pain running down her shattered horn and knew exactly what Rocinante was going through.
She closed her eyes as she heard the play progressed from there — Rocinante was back in his country estate, viewing everything he had done as a knight as merely a dream, dying of old age now, calling for a lawyer to comprise his will. It was all so...so mundane, boring, banal.
She wondered if that would be the life she would be taking up, after tonight. When she was transferred back to the Army, or wherever she ended up. Not that there was much practical difference between the Night Guard and the Army; either way, she’d be protecting ponies, serving her country. The prestige was irrelevant; she hadn’t been looking for it, she’d only wanted to rebuild her life. To live up to the standard that Shining Armor has set for her, the pony he’d seen that she could be...
Fizzlepop suppressed a grim chuckle. Like how Rocinante had seen a fair maiden in the whore Dulcinea. She didn’t get how her mind kept alternating between seeing herself as both Rocinante and Dulcinea...her psyche identified with both of them. Dulcinea was what she had been; Rocinante, what she was now. A mad pony who’d dreamed an impossible dream and was now finally coming to her senses.
Fizzlepop glanced at Trixie...and was surprised to see that the young mare was smiling. How did that make sense? The play had taken such a grim, stark turn, punishing the audience for believing in Don Rocinante. What was there to smile about?
Trixie noticed her look, and her grin widened. She pointed down to the stage just as Dulcinea suddenly reappeared, pushing her way past Rocinante’s mundane little family that had stolen his happiness. She was in tears...and apologizing to him for what she’d said. How she’d played a part in shattering the old pegasus’ delusion. How she could no longer stand to look at herself as a tavern wench and prostitute, how she wanted to be the fair maiden that Don Rocinante had seen.
Rocinante resisted at first, not recognizing her but thanking her for coming to see an old stallion on his deathbed. But then she started singing “The Impossible Dream”. Slowly, softly, meekly at first, but with her voice growing stronger and more determined even as Rocinante’s family tried to drag her off...
...and by the time she was reaching the final verses she wasn’t singing alone anymore. Don Rocinante has risen from his bed, hobbling at first, but soon all his old energy returned to him. He was the Knight of the Woeful Countenance once again.
“I am Don Rocinante, Hero of Equestria, my destiny calls and I go —
“And the wild winds of Fortune shall carry me onwards, O withersoever they blow!”
Fizzlepop felt tears in her eyes and her breath catching in her throat at the sight. It didn’t matter that Don Rocinante’s return was sadly brief — that his mortality had been real, that he didn’t make it through the reprise of his song. Before the second chorus was even done, his heart gave out. He passed on, but not before calling Dulcinea his lady fair one more time. Not before Dulcinea at last saw not only herself, but the whole world as he did. It was better his way. And all the others in the play, his family members, found themselves forced to admit the same thing.
He died as himself, or the best version of himself, or...or something. Fizzlepop wasn’t sure exactly how to phrase it. She just knew that she was happy. When the curtains closed and the final reprise of “The Impossible Dream” ended, the ponies in the theater started stomping their hooves and cheering loudly.
None more so than Trixie. The filly got up from her seat so that she could use all four hooves to stomp, almost prancing in place even as she fairly screamed her approval at a pitch that only young mares could match. It quickly tired her out, but she still vibrated with excitement. After several minutes, she turned to Fizzlepop, coming right up to her seat and looking at her pointedly. “Mais?” She asked. “What’d you think? Très bien, oui?”
“Oui,” Fizzlepop returned, trying the word out. Trixie giggled at it. “I think...I think I see why you wanted me to see it.”
“Ah wanted t’ see it.” Her smile widened. “An’ they even fixed it!”
Fizzlepop’s head tilted at that. “Fixed it?” She asked.
“Oui, sorta’...” Trixie took a few moments to think. “In the book, Dulcinea ain’t actually in it. She’s mentioned but she don’t appear. When she did in this Ah knew it’d been fixed. Oh, an’ at the end...” she let out a long sigh. “Rocinante, he stays sane. He actually includes in his will that if his daughter marries a pony who reads ‘bout chivalry, she’s t’ be disinherited.”
Fizzlepop’s eyes widened. “Really?”
“Oui. But Ah ain’t never met nopony who liked that endin’. Princess Luna told me that when she first read the book back when it was first published, she nearly flew down to the author’s house an’ demanded he explain himself.” Trixie shook her head. “It was basically just a bunch a’ jokes ‘bout an’ old mad pony t’ the author, an’ so he thought him goin’ sane again at the end was good. But everypony else always read somethin’ different from it. That the world can be wrong an’ one pony can be right.”
Fizzlepop wasn’t an artist or critic and didn’t feel qualified to really judge a book she’d never read. But as she stood and stretched, she thought about how she’d felt when Rocinante had lain on his deathbed. The banality of what had looked like his end. She didn’t think she’d be very happy if the play had ended there.
Especially not given what such an ending would have meant for her, personally. “I think I agree,” she said. “Not sure if I want to read the book now...”
Trixie’s eyes widened. “Non! it’s still great! Just not the very end. But Ah even wrote a story based on it where Rocinante picks up a squire named Presto an’ they slay a dragon!”
Fizzlepop couldn’t stop herself from laughing as the two stepped up to the theater box’s door. “Presto, huh?” She asked as she opened it. “Blue unicorn, wears a purple cape and hat?”
“Oui!” Trixie said without thinking, then blushed. “Um...Ah mean...zut.”