Equestria's Secret Service

by EdwardJ

XII - Paths

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Chapter Twelve

"Magical runes are a curious case. While we learned of the circle and it's properties from the Zebra tribes, we both developed the art of magical notation via runic alphabet. Our two cultures, worlds apart and without contact, developed the exact same symbols for the exact same meanings. There were a few runes on either side that were exclusive to that culture (the circle runes, for example, existed only in the Zebra tribes), but even those were revealed to be missing gaps in the other culture's magical understanding. Furthermore, archaeological evidence suggests that every culture that had magic has used the same runic alphabet..."

~Excerpt from "Introduction to Magical Theory"
by Radiance; scholar of magic
Course textbook

A harmonic chord whistled in the kitchen, and Octavia took the kettle off the stove. She glanced at the clock; ten minutes 'til. She began steeping the tea, making note that the scones would be ready in about five. That was good—everything was proceeding on time; her coming guest was very particular on that front. While the tea steeped, she prepared the serving tray, humming quietly to herself.

Today was going to be a good day.

The scones were ready—she placed them on the counter to cool while she discarded the spent leaves from the teapot. Covering the pot with a teacozy, she settled in to watch the clock. At one minute 'til, she left the kitchen for the front door, counting down in her head. Five... four... three... two... one!

She opened the door, and standing on her doorstep was a brown-coated, grey-maned earth pony stallion, his left forehoof hovering, about to knock. "Punctual as ever, Frederic," Octavia greeted, smiling.

Frederic returned her smile with one of his own as he set his hoof down. "Octavia, my dear. Lovely to see you again." He arched his eyebrow. "I trust this is a good time?"

She nodded. "He's here." She stepped away from the door. "Please, come in."

He entered her house, closing the door behind him. He stopped a moment to appreciate the smells from the kitchen before he snapped back to business. "I'll wait in the drawing room," he said as he started down the hall. Octavia nodded and turned for the stairs.

She paused outside of Fiddler's room. She knew he was in, but was sure he was alone. The quiet noise of what sounded like conversation carried through the door, and she strained her ears to listen. The voice she heard didn't sound like him at all. "...close to the truth as possible," it said. "Makes for ease of memory, flexibility, and less to invent."

"That sounds... simple enough," Fiddler's voice responded.

"Mayhaps, but there is an art to it." The stranger's voice was flat, emotionless. "Practice is essential. Shall we try a few scenarios?"

"Please."

It struck Octavia both that she was being rude, and that she had a very punctual guest downstairs who shouldn't be kept waiting. She shook her head as if to clear it of eavesdropping desires and knocked on the door. "Fiddler? May I come in?"

There was a sudden silence from inside the room, lasting several long seconds. "Ah... Y-yes."

She opened the door to find Fiddler standing alone. She cocked her head to one side. "Were you talking to someone?"

"I..." he paused, looking down to the floor for a moment. Then he let out a short chuckle and he visibly relaxed some. "Yes," he said.

Octavia looked around; they were alone in the room, and there were no places big enough for anypony to hide. Curiosity got the best of her and she found herself asking, "Who?"

"Someone who is trying to help with... well, my situation," he replied.

Octavia smiled. "And to think, you were planning on simply running away last week. Now you have all sorts of friends trying to help you." She paused, her smile fading a bit. If he had Cloudsdalian friends helping out now, then... "Does this mean you'll be leaving soon?"

He shook his head. "There is still too much to do, and I cannot... I cannot go back yet. I fear I shall have to stay here for a while yet."

Her smile returned and she nodded. "That's good to hear. Would you please accompany me downstairs? I have a surprize for you."

He hesitated a moment, then followed her out of the room and down the stairs. She led him into the drawing room, where Frederic stood looking out the window. He turned at the sound of hoofsteps behind him. "Frederic, this is Fiddler," Octavia introduced. "Fiddler, I'd like you to meet Frederic Horseshoe-pin; pianist, conductor, lover of music, friend, and teacher."

Fiddler bowed. "Pleasure to meet you."

Frederic regarded him with a critical eye. "Well," he said, after a few seconds, "Let's hope you can play."

Fiddler stood, confused. Octavia smiled at him. "I told you I had a surprize. Frederic is the pony to know in Canterlot music, and he's agreed to teach you."

"Let's not get ahead of ourselves," Frederic remarked. "I only agreed to give him a chance, and that only because you give him credence." He narrowed his eyes. "If he does poorly, I may think less of you."

Octavia knew the stallion well enough to know he was joking, but Fiddler's eyes were wide as he looked nervously at Octavia. "I-I—" he stumbled. "A-are you sure this is a good idea?"

She struggled to hold back a laugh. "It's fine, Fiddler; I wouldn't have told him about you if I didn't think you could do it. Just relax, don't worry." She glanced up at Frederic. "I'll go get the tea." With that, she trotted off for the kitchen.

She returned with the serving tray to find Fiddler nervously holding her Violin, hesitating to draw the bow. Frederic wore a very disapproving scowl, and it remained as he turned his head to face her. "Your guest can't perform."

Octavia sighed and set down the tray. "Fiddler," she said, "please collect my Cello from the den." Fiddler paused a moment, then set her Violin down and trotted off. Octavia turned to Frederic the moment he'd left. "You made him nervous."

"Did I? How does he presume to perform in front of hundreds if an audience of one terrifies him? What kind of pony are you showing me?"

"A talented one," she replied, "but timid. You saw how he reacted when you said you'd think less of me—he doesn't want to cause me distress."

Frederic snorted. "If he can't handle a simple jest, then how is he supposed to handle a disruptive audience? He may have music talent, but performance requires more than that."

"But it is the start; everything else can be taught and overcome. That's why I called you: you're the best pony for the case."

Frederic said nothing as Fiddler returned, toting Octavia's Cello. He set it before her, and she stood it up and began tuning it while Frederic watched with a scowl. "Fiddler," she said, "please pick up your Violin; we'll play together."

Fiddler looked as though he was about to object, but Frederic spoke first. "Octavia... what do you think you're you doing?"

"Overcoming stage fright," she said simply.

The corner of his mouth lifted in a slight smile before he looked over to the still-unmoving Fiddler. "Well? Are you just going to stand there and ignore her obvious ploy to help you?"

Fiddler still hesitated for a moment, then took a deep breath and collected the Violin. Octavia smiled. "Shall we begin, then?" He nodded, and Octavia began the melody. It was one that they'd done many times before, and she knew that he could do it well. As she concluded the prelude, he brought his bow up the the Violin and played.

Octavia closed her eyes, letting the room fade away to the sounds of song and melody. On stage or in her own practice room, it didn't matter; the music was all she cared for in those moments. There was no audience who could compare to the simple sound and glory. Her hoof danced along the strings without thought, shifting the tones and colours with practiced precision, and she heard Fiddler's Violin singing alongside in perfect harmony. It was haunting, sweet, and lifting, and she couldn't help but fall in love again.

The song ended, and she opened her eyes and returned to her room. In the past few minutes she had forgotten that Frederic was there, but upon seeing him again she suddenly felt a twinge of nerves. After all, it wasn't how she felt about the performance that was important. Frederic had a curious expression as he regarded Fiddler; Octavia hoped that was a good sign.

"'Fiddler,' was it?" he asked. The pegasus nodded, and there followed a few seconds of silence. "You're good," Frederic finally said. "Not great, but good. This is how you made a living?" Again, Fiddler nodded. "Why have I never heard of you?"

Fiddler blinked. "What?"

"Young pony, music is my business. I make it a point to know all the up-and-coming musicians in Equestria. By your skill, I should have heard of you some years back. Where have you been playing?"

"I... I've been in Cloudsdale. Not many earth ponies up that way."

"I have contacts in Cloudsdale. They would have told me about you. Where have you been playing?"

Fiddler's mouth opened, but he gave no response. Octavia decided to intervene. "Is that really important right now?" she asked, setting her Cello down. "Frederic, you can't expect your contacts to be everywhere at once; some ponies are going to be missed. Besides that, he's right in front of you now, and you've heard him play. Isn't that all you need?"

Frederic was silent for a time, obviously not pleased with the answer he'd come to. "I suppose so."

"And what's your answer?" she pressed.

He shook his mane. "Alright, fine; I'll teach him, if only to try and break his stage fright. A crippling disability for a musician, to be sure." He turned to Fiddler. "Once you're free of that restraint, I expect you to measure up to where a music-talented pony should be."

Octavia beamed. As Frederic trotted over to the tea tray, she turned her smile to Fiddler. "There, you see? Nothing to worry about. With Frederic's help, you'll be on your hooves in no time!"

His smile looked strained. "That's great."

~ * ~ ~ * ~ ~ * ~

Dew sighed and checked the clock. Almost a full hour had passed since she'd arrived, and still her only company was the quiet beeping of machines and the book in her hooves. Still, it could be worse, she reasoned—Gleam could be dead. Instead, the unicorn lay quietly, sound asleep upon the hospital bed. Though she'd awoken from her coma a few days ago, she wasn't really on any kind of schedule—the best Dew could hope for was to be there when she woke up again.

It had taken some pleading and a word from Meadowlark, but Service command was finally allowing Dew time to visit. Not alone, of course; she was still under suspicion, and though her escort was out of sight she knew that he was close by, listening. Dew didn't mind; she had no intentions to talk about work or Autumn—Gleam would have enough to deal with trying to recover.

There was a small groan as Gleam opened her unbandaged eye, blinking against the light. Dew smiled at the sight and put her book down. "Good morning, sunshine."

Gleam's head rolled toward the sound, and a moment passed as her eye started to focus. "Dew," she said, her voice weak. "You're looking better."

Dew chuckled. "I'm certainly feeling better. Glad to see the rumours were true." Gleam's brow furrowed as her head rolled in what could amount to a tilt against the pillow. "That you woke up," Dew clarified.

"Mm..." Her eye closed as her breathing slowed. Dew glanced nervously at the various medical instruments around the room; she couldn't understand any of them, but none of them seemed to be giving off any alarms. She began to think that Gleam had fallen asleep when she spoke again. "I guess it took a while."

"About two weeks," Dew replied. "I think Hotspot and Red were starting to call dibs on your things."

Gleam's chuckle turned into a short coughing fit. She still wore a smile when it subsided. "Mm, so eager—I'd hate to leave them disappointed. They should get something for their efforts." She opened her eye to look at Dew. "I'll have to give them my next mission."

Her cheer was infectious; Dew found herself smiling back. "I'll be sure to pass that along; I think the captain'll be able to pull that off."

"What's she got to do with it? It's my mission—if I want to pass it to a couple of overly eager colts, who can stop me?"

Dew shook her head. "No-one that I can think of."

"That's right," she replied, her voice fading again. "No-one c'n stop me." Her eye closed and her breathing slowed, but her hoof stretched out toward Dew, who took it in her own. "Glad you're here," she whispered.

"Same," Dew said. "To be honest, I was starting to get worried."

A chuckle. "Shouldn't a' been. Told you, looks worse than it is. I'll be back up in no time."

"Of course you will." Dew said it with as much sincerity as she could muster.

Gleam's smile faded as she opened her eye again. "How are the others?" she asked.

Dew cocked an eyebrow. "I thought the Service debriefed you when you first woke."

"Did they? I don't remember." She chuckled. "It's been kinda hazy."

"Well, then," Dew said, patting her hoof, "try to pay attention this time." Gleam smiled and chuckled at that, lifting her other hoof to pat her heart. "The others are doing well," Dew continued. "Spotter made it back safely, and the dog gathering broke apart. Last Leaf and Maple Song had brief visits to the hospital, but they're out and off doing missions right now. Spotter, too; he's off with Last Leaf. The other two unicorns are still about, still getting check-ups in medical. Clear Skies—"

She stopped short, and Gleam's brow furrowed in concern. "What's wrong?"

Dew shook her head and forced a smile. "I-it's nothing," she said. "Clear Skies was taken to the hospital for her wing..." And she's been kicked out since Autumn's accounts were locked. She shook the thought from her head and started again. "I haven't managed to see her lately, since..." Since I'm not allowed to leave the palace and she's been thrown on the streets. "...Well, I'm sure she's fine," she lied. "I'll have to check up on her when I get the chance."

"How's her foal?"

She paused. "Not an alacorn, if that's what you're asking. Seems the dog's plan wouldn't have worked."

Gleam chuckled softly and shook her head. "I could've told you that," she said. "Was a very silly idea they had. But how is she? Did the dog's spell do anything?"

She paused again. All in all, Dew wasn't sure why she wasn't telling Gleam the whole truth. Part of it was, for certain, that she couldn't—telling her about the conspiracy in the Service would only result in them both being picked out. Perhaps it was that she didn't want Gleam to worry about the other ponies while she was busy healing—she didn't need added stress. "I don't think that foal has anything to worry about," she finally said.

In the silence that followed, Gleam's gaze bore into her. It wasn't aggressive—rather, it was searching and concerned. Finally, "She's dead, isn't she?" she asked.

Slowly, Dew nodded.

Gleam closed her eye and sighed. "Shame." Dew said nothing to that, and the silence stretched. After a time, Gleam looked back up at Dew and asked, "How's Autumn?"

Dew didn't answer right away. Gleam was her closest friend next to him, and it hurt to lie to her. Worse, the truth she could tell would only make her worry, and she needed to rest and recover. "Autumn... was given pardon for disobeying the Vice-Commissar's orders, and..." And was awarded the title of 'traitor.' She clenched her jaw tight, making an effort to keep a neutral expression. "He's... away, right now, recovering."

"Recovering?" Gleam asked, chuckling. "From what? Colt didn't have a mark on him." Dew had no answer, and Gleam's smile died in the silence. "What happened?" she asked.

Dew shook her head. "He—" The words caught and it felt as though she choked on them—she coughed and her vision blurred, and when she blinked to clear it she saw that Gleam was struggling to sit up. "No!" Dew quickly said, leaping over from her chair. "You mustn't try to move yet; you're still recovering."

"I'll have a lot of time for that later," Gleam replied, propped up on one elbow. "Right now there's something you're not telling me." She reached over and placed her hoof softly on the back of Dew's head. Leaning close, she asked, "What happened, Dew? Why are you crying?"

Am I? She ran a hoof under her eyes and it came back wet. She struggled to smile. "It's... it's nothing, really; you shouldn't worry yourself."

Gleam looked her in the eye. "Horseapples," she whispered.

Dew's lips quavered as the words caught in her throat. She had to say it, she knew, but still it was difficult. She shook her head and forced them out; this was the truth of it, and Gleam deserved to know. "It... it's Autumn; he's been declared a traitor."

Gleam's eye widened. "What?"

A nod. "There was... they found some plans in his room and..." She trailed off, afraid that she might say the wrong things if she continued.

"But... you don't really believe that, do you?"

Dew looked at her friend, trying to put as much meaning into her gaze as she could. "I have to."

Gleam was silent, then she lowered her head; her horn glowed for only an instant before it sparked. The crack of dispelling magic set off a ferocious beeping on one of the machines in the room, and Gleam gave a short scream of pain and collapsed back into her bed, clutching her forehead. "Gleam, no!" Dew cried, far too late. "No, you can't; your horn... it's still healing."

Her breathing slowed as a tear ran from her good eye. One hoof fell to her side while the other remained at her temple. After a time, she asked, "What happened while I was asleep?"

Before Dew could answer, a trio of nurses burst into the room with various medical instruments, summoned by the still-beeping machine. One turned to the thing, silencing it, before ushering her from the room.

~ * ~ ~ * ~ ~ * ~

The unicorn rubbed his temples, closing his eyes as he did so. The pile of paper on his desk had shrunk considerably since that morning, but there was only so much a stallion could do before he needed to move again. Still, the remaining pile had to be dealt with, so he settled for a stretch before returning to his task.

He was interrupted by a mare bursting into his office, her horn glowing as she cast a privacy bubble around them. "It's Hex-based!" she cried.

The stallion glared at the grinning face of the unicorn before him. "Come again?"

"The Shaman's spell," the mare clarified. "It's Hex-based! Ingeniously done, too. It certainly explains why it was so badly broken on the foal, you know—those anti-magic pills she took. Probably did that much damage because the spell was incomplete at the time. Heh. Here I was looking for enchantment principles—no wonder I couldn't find anything!"

The stallion frowned, considering the information. As intriguing as the Shaman and his little magic was, his office wasn't really the place for it—he'd have to make sure to remind her to only discuss such things in the gemstone mines, privacy bubble or otherwise. That was later, however; right now, she looked positively jittery, and in spite of himself his curiosity was piqued. The details, he was sure, were very interesting, but there was one thing that really stood out to him. "Hex-based?" he repeated, and the mare nodded vigorously. "That's... highly contradictory. Would it even work?"

"That's the best part! He made the spell so that it counteracts the hex's negative effects! At least, at first it does. After that..." She raised her hoof and rocked it from side to side. "Well, at some point it would eat itself. No telling when, or what that might entail."

A hex that counters itself? The idea was ludicrous—hexes weren't built for shifts like that. Likely the effect wasn't intentional and the Shaman had blindly stumbled upon it. That thought only increased his concern. "Is it even possible to fix?"

She paused, her excitement replaced by a furrowed brow. "Right, right, um... Yes, it is possible, but it'll take a while. I'll need to unravel the core components without damaging them, then figure out which enchantment sequence would best complement them while trying to make them as effective as possible—"

"How long?" he interrupted.

She let out a long breath, blowing a few stray mane hairs away from her eyes. "I could probably get the core workings isolated in just a few days time. After that, it'll really depend on what I'm left with."

"Best guess."

Her hoof clicked against the floor. "I'd call it a week."

"Sooner would be preferable."

"Of course, sir; I'll do the best I can."

He nodded once and returned to his work before the interruption. Soon, though, he realized that the her spell still shimmered around the room. He arched an eyebrow as he looked back up to her. "Is there something else?"

She nodded, slowly. "Yes, sir, it's... well, the Shaman, he's..."

He took a slow breath, placing his forehooves together under his chin as he fixed her with a stern glare. "Do you really want to have this discussion here? Now?" She glanced toward the door, nervous, before slowly nodding. He sighed and leaned back into his seat. "Well?"

She glanced around the room, as if to make certain her spell was still there, before she spoke. "The Shaman... I'm beginning to worry about him."

"How so?"

"It's just... he knows more than he's letting on. Like today, when I started to teach him more runes, he already knew them. I had to show him circle runes to find ones that he didn't know."

"You're not trying to teach him how the circles work, I hope?" The last thing he needed was a dog playing with magic like that.

"No, no... I lied about what they meant, but that isn't the point. He's keeping secrets from us."

He was unmoved. "Of course he is. Are you telling me that you're worried because the dog is trying to be clever?"

"I know what I taught him," she insisted.

"And runes are universal," he countered. "I find it hardly surprising that it happens to know a few."

"But he shouldn't! That's the whole point. The Shamans... they 'hear' their magic, remember? He was mystified the first time he saw—"

"So he lied back then, probably to see if you knew any he didn't. Now he knows you don't. Mystery solved."

"But he—"

"Celina!" he barked, and the mare fell quiet. He let the silence hang in the air for a time. "While I appreciate your efforts in keeping the Shaman leashed, may I remind you that he is a dog, and nothing he does can change that. The best of them are dullards and incompetents, and you would do well to remember that. He is a fool, and you should not let him play you for one. Am I understood?"

Celina was biting her tongue, and her hoof clicked against the floor. "Yes, sir," she finally said.

"Good. Now I expect our next discussion to show progress on his spell. You are dismissed."

He returned to his work as the privacy bubble collapsed around them. Celina gave a curt bow and left without a word.

~ * ~ ~ * ~ ~ * ~

Dew sat on the balcony's edge, neck craned as she watched the night sky turn overhead. This high up—on one of the palace's tallest spires—the air tasted so fresh and clean, and the wind rustled her feathers and pulled at her mane like a restless lover. The scent of distant rain tickled her nostrils, and for a moment she just wanted to close her eyes, open her wings, and let the sky take her.

She almost did, involuntarily, when Meadowlark appeared by her side. "Good evening, Dew," he greeted.

"H-hey," she returned, recovering. "What brings you out here?"

He looked up. "The sky," he replied. "The bitter wind."

The silence that followed felt empty, and Dew's wings fluttered. "Hey, um... I never thanked you for helping me—for letting me see Gleam. So... thanks."

His head turned to face her as he spread his wings. "Will you fly with me?"

Dew paused. It was a simple request, but it certainly wasn't one that she expected. Slowly, she shook her head. "I'm... not really allowed to leave the palace without escort."

He cocked an eyebrow. "Do I not count?"

A moment passed, and the wind tugged incessantly at her mane. She smiled, and fell backwards off the balcony.

The feeling of weightlessness overcame her, and she spared a moment to revel in it before flaring a wing to right herself. Upright, she skimmed the palace's lower rooftops before catching an updraft that pushed her high again. It felt good/ to be in the air again—so many days trapped in the palace had a way of getting to a mare. She glanced over her shoulder; Meadowlark was behind her, closer than she'd expected. A wild grin stretched across her muzzle. "Catch me if you can!" she yelled, banking hard to her left. A quick look behind her let her know that he was turning after her. She was glad for that—a chase was no fun with only one player.

She quickly dropped a meter in altitude as he whipped by. Sweet Celestia, he's fast. He dipped his wing and turned—almost on a dime—and Dew dove for the shorter, more numerous place spires. Her talent wasn't in flying, but she guessed she'd have a better chance weaving than trying to outdistance him.

She regretted the decision almost immediately. The spires were too close to fly at full speed, and the moonlight left too much in shadow. Still, she wasn't going to give up—she charged in, twisting hard and pushing off walls. She narrowly missed breaking a few windows and had to scramble across a roof at one point, but she emerged from the maze unharmed and minus one nightguard. Lost him, she thought. She smiled to herself, but it quickly fell away as she realized that she was now out alone—against orders.

She turned to search the sky, but a hoof touched her back between her wings and a voice whispered in her ear, "Your turn." He pushed off, and she looked to see him flying up and away. She stayed a moment, stunned, then flapped her wings and sped after him, grinning like a wildcat.

Two hours later, exhausted and elated, Dew collapsed upon a nearby cloud. Meadowlark landed beside her, managing to maintain his composure despite being fairly winded himself. Dew grinned up at him. "That was fun," she panted.

"Indeed," he replied, which earned a chuckle from Dew. He cocked an eyebrow. "Is something wrong?"

Dew swallowed her laughter and rolled onto her back. "You're just so serious," she chided. "You should relax some—smile more."

He blinked. "If I relax too much, I run the risk of missing important details. It is my duty as a guard to see everything."

"But you're not on duty right now, are you?"

"Important things rarely wait until I'm on duty to happen." He was smiling when he said that, Dew noted happily, even as she realized his smile was scary. He had fangs, and they seemed to glitter prominently in the moonlight. She found herself pushing backward into the cloud, still grinning widely. "And if I had not been watching," he continued, "I would not be able to tell you that we were not followed."

Dew instantly lost her smile. The cloud suddenly felt cold, so she pushed herself into a sitting position. She could still see Canterlot glowing against the mountain, but the big thing she noted was how distant it was. She forced herself to look to the city, but her eyes kept flitting over to Meadowlark.

"Her Majesty has a task for you."

Relief flooded through her at those words, and she took a moment to berate herself for it—he was a friend, and she had no reason to think ill of him. "What does she need?" she asked.

"A lure."

"What?"

"Her Majesty intends to incite the Service traitors. To this end, she requires a lure for them to follow, culminating in their reveal. Furthermore, it shall lead them away from Autumn, allowing him to operate with more freedom."

Autumn. It had been days since she had last visited Luna, and in that time she'd heard nothing. "How is he?" she asked.

Meadowlark looked back toward Canterlot. "He is well. In a few days' time he will attend another gathering. The host is an important figure in Canterlot politics, and a number of council will be there."

"Did we... did he find anything last time?"

Meadowlark nodded. "Suggestions of at least six turned councilmares. Perhaps more."

What?"

"Indeed." He wore a small smile when he looked back at her. "You shall no doubt recall the recent vote by the council—to restore limited power to the Vice-Commissar. It seems the vote was planned in advance. Such things are rare, though not unheard of, so it alone is hardly compelling. Furthermore, considering the Commissar's condition, there is a logic behind the vote."

Dew's brow furrowed in confusion. "Then..."

"Silent Scroll proposed the motion, yet it was not his idea, nor did he help plan the vote. Likely, he's just a puppet caught in his strings. Most interesting, however, is their unique countersign. Tell me: when you worked in Intelligence, did you ever stand witness to council meetings?"

"A few times," she replied, nodding.

"Did you ever hear the countersign, 'Truth and Strength'?"

Slowly, she shook her head. The phrase was utterly alien, but she was starting to see the pieces fit. "If it isn't a council countersign, then it might be for the traitors, but..." Perhaps more. "...You don't know who's pulling his strings, do you?"

"Indeed." There was a plain note of approval in his tone. "You are well-suited for this game."

It was uncomfortable praise; she shifted in her seat and cast about for a different subject. "W-what does the princess need?"

"In a few days you will receive a note in Autumn's writing. You will hold onto it for a half-day before turning it in."

She gave a short chuckle. "I'm still being watched, you know—sitting on it might get me arrested."

Meadowlark shook his head. "It won't. This is a game of subtleties; the delay is essential—it implies that you struggled with the decision yet came to the end they wanted. It tells them that you are, finally and fully, on their side. Thus shall suspicion on you decrease, and the Service be led astray."

Her thoughts went back to her time in Intelligence, when the ponies would agonize over the smallest details of reports. It's the little things that are the most important, Spotter had once told her. It fit well with what Meadowlark was saying, so she sighed and placed her trust in him. "I'll do it," she said.

Meadowlark nodded, then turned to look back at Canterlot.

~ * ~ ~ * ~ ~ * ~

Celina took a deep breath of the morning air. It was fresh and cold, and she felt like it was putting new life into her tired body. She closed her eyes and enjoyed the moment; the early mornings might take some getting used to, but she was certainly starting to love the morning chill. She smiled to herself at the realization. I guess a little perspective is all it takes, she thought, gazing down at the still-sleeping city below her.

This morning had started earlier than usual, and that had surprized her. Even more so, there had been a strange urgency in Balloons' actions, and he had been unusually quiet as he'd prepped his balloon. "A lot to think about," was all he'd said on the matter. Oddly, she found that none of it made her nervous; a sort of trust had grown between them.

"Celina?" The sound broke her of her reverie, and she looked over to Balloons. "I've been thinking..."

She cocked her head curiously to one side. Balloons' expression was downcast as he looked askance at her, his usual brightness at being aloft conspicuously absent. "About what?" she asked.

"About you and... and what you've said."

"I've said a lot of things; you'll have to be a bit more specific."

He fidgeted, preferring to look at the basket floor than at her. "It's... nothing specific, really—just about all the times we've spent together."

She gave him a warm smile. "That's sweet."

"No, I didn't mean like..." He shook his head. "You know what? Forget it; it's nothing." He turned to the fire, fiddling with it absently, clearly trying to distract himself.

Celina sighed quietly to herself, then leaned over and wrapped a foreleg around his shoulders. "Balloons," she said softly, causing him to drop his magic, "it's alright; you can talk to me."

He paused. "It's... really nothing, you shouldn't—"

"Balloons." He stopped, and she turned his head to face her. She met his lips with a kiss. "It's okay."

He smiled at her, but it faded as he spoke. "It's just... remember when you said that the princess, maybe... forgets us?"

She pulled him close, letting a few seconds pass like that before she replied. "Yeah."

"I can't... I can't get that thought out of my head. What if you're right?" He looked to her, and his eyes seemed to be pleading. "What if the princess really has forgotten what it means to be mortal? What if we're just making things worse by keeping ponies ignorant? I don't want to think like this, I really don't, but it's been stuck ever since you mentioned it."

"I know," she said, patting his side. "It's been like that for me, too. For a long while, actually, so I'm sorry for spreading it to you."

He shook his head, looking back to the basket floor. "Shouldn't apologize," he said. "Not really your fault."

"Why not? I put the thought in your head, didn't I?"

She felt him take a deep breath. "Maybe not. Maybe you just gave voice to my own doubts. I mean... you know that story you told me? The one about the fireflies?"

She chuckled. "An old story."

"Maybe, but... it got me thinking. I mean, I know it sounds stupid, but you talked about those candles and them thinking they were untouchable in their castles and I thought, 'is that what the princess is doing? Is that what the country is doing?' And I just... I just..." He leaned heavily into her, despondent. "I don't want to think like this."

Celina didn't say anything, only held him close. They stayed that way for a time, embraced in silence as the sky slowly brightened. Finally, she leaned in by his ear and whispered, "So what would you do?"

He blinked up at her. "What?"

"If it were true, and all we are doing is making things worse, what would you do to fix it?"

He thought for a moment, then shrugged. "I don't know; talk to the princess about it?" He stifled a laugh. "And she'd probably just make me feel better without actually fixing anything."

"You think so?"

"She's been doing this for more than a thousand years; if she thinks she's doing right, there's no way I could convince her otherwise."

Celina gave him a little squeeze. "That's true." More than you know. "So what else?"

He looked out to the horizon, where the first glow of the rising sun was starting to chase away the night. "Talk to the ponies, I suppose. Tell them the truth."

"Been done."

His head turned sharply as he looked at her. "What?"

She shrugged. "Don't remember when, precisely, but there was a pony who tried to tell everyone that the world was, well, what it is. Celestia had him silenced, and the Service cleaned up his mess. Small things like that are easy to cover up and bury." She smiled at him. "The tale's in one of the old history books in the vault."

He looked off toward the horizon, thoughtful. "I didn't know that."

"It isn't really advertised, you know? One of those things you'll come across by accident."

He was silent for a moment before he sighed and shook his head. "Not much that can be done then, is there?"

"Something big'd do it."

"Big?"

"Something too big to bury."

He laughed at that, and Celina tensed a moment. "I don't think there's anything big enough," he said, smiling.

"There's one thing," she replied, "but it comes with a far more important question: are you willing to make the sacrifice to make this come true?"

He stared at her blankly. "I'm... not sure I understand."

She sighed and gestured at the horizon. "Every morning that you come up here, you spend so much time prepping the balloon or adjusting the fire. Only once everything is done and the balloon is flying can you take a moment to enjoy it. You could just watch from a palace balcony and you wouldn't miss a moment of the sunrise. You could call it 'good enough,' but instead you aim higher for something more beautiful, but what do you miss while you're laying out the canvas? What passes by while you're caring for the fire?" She stared into his eyes and asked, "What do you sacrifice to be up here?"

He shook his head. "You can't call this a 'sacrifice,' Celina. Everypony who has a balloon goes through that; it's part of the routine."

"Just because it's routine doesn't mean it isn't a sacrifice; I can tell you you're missing some beautiful sights while we're lifting off. But it isn't about whether or not you're missing things; it's about being willing to give something up in order to achieve something greater."

He was staring at her now, his brow furrowed. "Alright... what are you suggesting?"

She smiled and shook her head. "I'm not suggesting anything, Balloons, only making an observation: the one thing that's big enough to show Equestria the truth is something that asks for—no, that demands sacrifice from all."

"You... you can't be..." His voice stopped working, though his mouth continued to make the effort.

Her smile turned weak as she nodded. "War."

He sat there a moment, stunned. Slowly, he pulled away from her, shaking his head. "That... how can you..."

"It isn't like I'm trying to start one, Balloons," she chided, "I'm just stating the facts. War is the only option to remove Equestria's blindfold."

Balloons shook his head, still reeling from the statement. "But... how can you even think about it? War is... the very idea is appalling!"

"Is keeping a whole nation deaf and blind any better? Are we perpetuating something that's potentially worse?" He said nothing, so she sighed and faced the dawn. "I won't say it'd be right, Balloons, you have to understand that. The casualties—the destruction, the lives ended—even just thinking about it makes me want to break down and cry. But then... when I think about what would come after, what would rise from the ashes, what's beyond that curtain of war, then... I don't know. An Equestria with eyes wide open; a populace that knows and understands, and stops walking headlong into danger." She gave a short, mirthless laugh. "Enemies who've seen our power. Our princess is unstoppable; do you think we'd be attacked after they saw that? Perhaps, for the first time in a thousand years, we'd have a real peace, not just the illusion of it. And when I think of all that, I wonder: would it be worth it? For the good of Equestria, is that a sacrifice worth making?"

"You can't choose to sacrifice somepony else's life."

She nodded. "I know. Can't really ask them, though, since they've no idea. It's a vicious circle like that, isn't it?" Her smile was humourless when she looked at him, and she kept her tone levelled at mild curiosity. "What do you think they'd say? Think they'd lay down their lives for the princess and Equestria?" She paused, blinking. "Both princesses. Think they'd willingly give their lives to that cause? Would they do the same to stay blind?"

He shook his head. "You can't justify it like that—it isn't them making the choice."

"I know, I know, and that's why this is just a thought. I don't—" She stopped herself, and looked back to the dawn. "I just wonder sometimes."

She could see that Balloons was balking at the idea, and he didn't look to be changing colours anytime soon. Inwardly, she cursed herself; she had obviously moved too fast. She began to wonder if he was starting to affect her better judgement. Maybe she was getting a soft spot for him, but, damnit, she knew better than to let that get in the way. She wanted to kick herself.

It surprized her when he spoke. "I didn't mean..." He trailed off, but soon after she felt him nuzzling her neck. "I do understand what you're saying—really, I do. And I understand the idea, and the ideal, and..." He let all his breath out at once, and seemed to hesitate before drawing it back. She turned her head, looking at him sidelong, a half-smile on the side he couldn't see. "I want you to know I understand, alright?" he continued. "What you mean, the weight of sacrifice, the goal at the end, all of it. It's just... such a thing—even hypothetically—how could it be worth it? Is the revealed truth worth Equestria being leaderless?"

She faced him full, allowing him to see her smirk. "'Leaderless?' What makes you think that'd happen?"

He shrugged. "I dunno—Celestia would never allow open war, so starting one means removing her first. And no matter how great it may be behind that curtain, I absolutely cannot agree with that."

"No-one wants to remove Celestia, Balloons," she chided. "No future could be good without her. I said it before: she's the greatest thing that could've happened to us ponies, even if she does... forget us a little. I don't—I can't—imagine that she wouldn't be there. She'd lead us through it, and be there for us afterward."

"I don't think that's possible."

"Maybe," she admitted, "but if the war starts quickly—too quickly for any other response—then it's open before she can lock the lid. The Service can't dismantle it, she can't tuck it under the rug, and then the whole world would see." Purposefully, she looked away, back over the horizon. "It is possible to reveal the truth and keep our princess, and I can't see it any other way."

There was a silence that fell between them, broken only by the birds chirping their morning songs. The sun crawled up the sky, chasing away the last of the nighttime ghosts and bathing Canterlot with its glory. Celina closed her eyes and let the sunlight dance across her eyelids.

"Maybe," began Balloons. "Maybe you're right. I mean, if it could happen like that, then... I don't know. It might be worth it. I don't know if I could do it, but..."

She smiled and, without opening her eyes, leaned into him. "I'm glad you think that," she said. "I'm glad I'm not the only one."

He placed his foreleg across her shoulders, saying nothing. She didn't mind—she was perfectly content for the time being. In a few days, after the thoughts had grown, she might be able to take him to others who shared the dream, but for now she was happy just floating beside him high above the slumbering world.

~ * ~ ~ * ~ ~ * ~

Fiddler slammed the door behind him, panting heavily. After a moment, he finally forced himself to relax slightly, leaning up against the door and holding it closed.

That was too close.

It probably hadn't been necessary for him to rush all the way back to Octavia's, but he had been too panicked to think clearly. If anypony had seen him—actually seen him—then he would have led them straight to his hiding place. As that realization sunk in, he placed his head in his hooves and groaned.

How could I have been so stupid?

He tried to console himself—after all, it had been a long time since he had hidden without his mask; he'd simply gotten a little careless. It didn't help, though—he was shaken deep. So he sat there, leaning against the door, trying to calm his breathing.

An hour passed slowly, but quietly—there were no strange sounds, no knocking at the door, no signs of pursuit, yet every cricket's chirp or bird's call set his heart racing anew. Once he heard the clock strike the hour he reasoned that he hadn't been followed, but he still shivered. He swallowed, but his shaking only lessoned. Hoping a cup of tea might help calm his nerves, he got up and went to the kitchen.

Even simple tasks proved difficult; he kept dropping the kettle, spilling the tea leaves, and more than once he found himself relieved that he'd grabbed the more durable cups. It took him twice as long as usual to get the tea ready, and it was with utmost care that he brought it to the den, sat down, and stared at the steaming cup.

He was calmer now, and his mind drifted. It wasn't long before he was back in the estate, spying on the councilmares for another mission from Luna. Octavia hadn't been kidding when she said that rich ponies had little else to do than host fancy parties, though he suspected that the ponies of the council did it less to keep up their public appearances than they did to gather the rumours that flew around the city. He had been there again as Octavia's guest, and it hadn't been long before two councilmares had retreated into the private rooms of the estate.

"I still don't like it," one of them had said. Autumn recognized her as Cotton, one of the few earth ponies on the council. She was clearly agitated, spending much of the conversation pacing about. "He's putting too much in one basket."

"What can you expect?" the other replied. The unicorn looked familiar, but Autumn couldn't quite place her. In contrast, she stood calmly, an air of confidence about her. "Good opportunities are hard to come by."

"He's still investing too heavily—moving too fast. I don't know if we'll have room to manoeuvre if things fall through. We need to spread out and slow down."

"Spreading out would only leave us too thin to see this trust through, and it's far too late to slow things down. We need to be united on this."

"United, yes, but to the exclusion of all other options? We need to at least keep sending agents in all directions. We can't afford—"

"What would they do, Cotton? We are still filtering reports, evaluating other circumstances and scenarios. Nothing else viable has appeared."

Cotton sounded dejected. "We could still start fires."

"With whom?"

"Dragons, perhaps; their kings are quick to anger. Ol' Nacky'd give us an easy start."

"He might, if you called him that to his face. Unfortunately, most kings would settle for biting the head off the messenger. Do you really want to send some random guy into the maw just to write an excuse to his family?"

"What about the wolves, then? They're naturally aggressive, and alpha Dem's got a pack that's—"

"—that's less than half the size needed to even garner a second glance. Are you even paying attention during the meetings?" Cotton shot her a glare, but then her eyes widened in shock. Autumn realized she was staring straight at him.

The sound of the front door snapped him back to the present. For a few tense moments, he sat rooted while listening to the sound of hoofsteps in the hall. He almost dove behind the couch when Octavia stepped into sight. "Fiddler!" she exclaimed, surprized. "What are you doing here?"

Fiddler paused; the question had sounded accusatory to him, and suddenly he realized he wasn't breathing. He gasped for air and stumbled over his words. "I-I... I thought... I didn't..."

Octavia sighed and shook her head. "Fiddler..." She stepped into the den and set her cello down. Free from its weight, she trotted over to the couch and glanced at the cup Fiddler was holding. "How long have you been here?"

He followed her gaze and found that his tea had gone cold. He checked the clock to see that a few hours had passed and the sun was low on the horizon. He looked to her, unsure of what to say, unsure if he was even welcome anymore after running from the party. Had he insulted her, or shamed her in front of her clients? She seemed to sense his conflict, and she sat beside him and placed a comforting hoof on his shoulder. "Tell me what happened."

The simple act did wonders to calm him; he took a deep, easy breath while he pondered what he could say. The truth was not an option, but Smiles had told him to stay as close as possible. He looked into his cup, refusing to look Octavia in the eye as he picked his words. "I... just panicked, I think. I am unused to such crowds."

"You were fine at Sterling's," Octavia countered. "What was so different here?"

He paused again, considering his answer. In his mind's eye, he saw Cotton's face and her yellow spotlight-eyes wide and staring. "I suppose I was more invisible then."

Octavia sighed. "Part of being a performer is being visible, Fiddler. How did you ever manage to make a living if you're afraid of crowds?"

He looked up at her and their eyes met. "I have never played for an audience of more than one."

She nodded. "I see. Well, Canterlot isn't like Cloudsdale—here, you'll need to get your name out before anypony will hire you for a private show. You need to overcome your stage fright if you hope to succeed." She pat his hoof as he looked back to his cold tea. "Frederic is a great teacher, but you'll only waste his time if you don't get on stage."

The image of laughing foals flashed across his mind, leaving the bitter taste of humiliation in its wake. He swallowed hard and shook his head. "I... I know."

Silence followed and lingered between them. He sat, unmoving, his mind drifting between the cold fear of being caught and the warm presence of the mare at his side. She watched him, and he could only wonder what she might ask him next. Finally, she smiled and spoke again. "Come with me."

* * *

The Golden Gallop' was a quaint little café nestled snugly on the edge of downtown Canterlot between a candleshop and a chocolatier, both closed for the night. The café itself was a wooden structure, giving a stark, homey contrast to the usual white stone of the city. Fiddler may have thought it to be an oasis of a sort if his violin wasn't weighing on his back.

"Why are we here?" he asked, taking in the sight of the small crowd that gathered around the Gallop.

Octavia smiled as she looked back at him. "It's open mic night," she replied. "Perfect time to attend." Fiddler said nothing; he only smiled numbly.

Inside, the place offered a warm atmosphere. Each table had candle-lamps and fireflies flew overhead, a thin net keeping them against the ceiling. The wooden walls were covered by tapestries and pictures, and ponies of all kinds laughed and conversed all around. Octavia found them a table and seemed to eagerly await the arrival of their waiter. Fiddler found himself watching her, fascinated. Just like the rich parties, she was wearing a mask, but this one was different. Her eyes shone brighter, her smile was more genuine, and there was an energy at her hooves, as though she might leap up and dance on a whim. So different, and yet she slipped it on so easily. How many masks does she have? he wondered. Do I even know the real her?

"You're staring," she chided, catching his gaze from the corner of her eye.

"You are fascinating," he replied, without thinking.

The candlelight caught her blush as he realized what he said. He floundered a moment, but before he could say anything else a happy, blue unicorn appeared at their table. "Tavia! Ha! Look who finally trotted back into my place!" She cast a sly glance at Fiddler and gave Octavia a playful nudge. "And you brought a coltfriend, I see. How scandalous."

Octavia chuckled and returned a friendly shove. "Just a friend, Merry. He's recently in from Cloudsdale and looking to settle someplace new."

"Oh! Well, then," chirped Merry, extending her hoof in greeting. "Welcome to Canterlot, my dear."

Fiddler took her hoof in his own and, after a moment's indecision, simply shook it. "Thank you, Miss Merry. It seems like a wonderful city."

"It is," she replied, nodding, "and the Gallop's the best café this side of the mountain. Fine foods, delectable desserts, and bountiful beverages." She leaned heavily on the table and fluttered her eyelids. "What can I get for you?"

"Tea for two," interrupted Octavia, "and your sign-up sheet."

Merry's face broke out in happy surprize. "Tavia? You're playing tonight? Forget the sheet, I'll make you our feature!"

Octavia shook her head and gestured toward Fiddler. "Not me, Merry."

For a moment her face fell, but she quickly put a smile on again. "Oh, well; guess I can't have everything. On the other hoof, a handsome stallion like you on my stage? This'll be a fine night. Sit right there, sugar; I'll get your drinks." With that, she winked at Fiddler and trotted off.

Octavia caught Fiddler watching Merry as she left. "You like her?"

He shook his head in disbelief. "Is she always like that?"

"Most nights, yes. Really, I think she's the reason most ponies come here, not the food. She can always find a way to chase away the clouds of a gloomy day."

Once Merry was out of sight, Fiddler looked to the stage at the far side of the room. Ponies were crawling over it, setting up microphones and speakers. In front of it, the few empty tables left were slowly filling up. He cast a nervous glance at Octavia. "Are you sure this is a good idea?"

She nodded. "It's a small crowd, and very supportive. I can't think of a better place to start."

He looked back to the crowd, searching. Are there any Hunters in this gathering? He didn't know, and there was no easy way to tell. "I am... unsure," he said.

"Fiddler..." There was something in her voice—a note of pain and disappointment—that forced him to look at her again. She was staring at the floor, her ears drooped and her whole body seeming to follow suit. "Are you..." She stopped, shook her head, and started over. "You know I'm trying to help, don't you? I don't want to see you on the street, but... If you're not not going to make any effort, then..." She looked at him, the same notes of pain and disappointment written all over her face. "I know you're nervous, but I can't support you if you won't even try."

Fiddler was quiet—he was trapped, he could see. He needed Octavia—she was his cover, his key, and he needed to play along if he wanted to keep her, yet doing so meant...

He looked back to the stage. The lights had been set up, and they were testing the spotlight. A few ponies in the seats were looking around and the rest of the café, and Autumn subconsciously put a hoof over his left eye. Did the Hunters know? Had Cotton seen? He didn't know the answers to those questions—not truly—but every skill, talent, and instinct he had told him that neither mare had gotten a good look at him. Even so, he needed to be hiding, not stepping out in front of everyone.

"It is... difficult," he managed.

The clatter of dishes brought his attention back to the table, where Merry had brought their tea. "Here you go," she said, placing a teacup next to Fiddler. "And a little extra," she added with a wink, setting the sign-up sheet beside it.

He hesitated. Octavia said nothing, but she watched him, waiting. After a moment, he grabbed the pen and wrote his name.

Merry took their orders for food and left with the sheet, taking it to other tables for eager ponies to sign up. Octavia was smiling as she took his hoof in her own. "Thank you," she whispered. He nodded numbly, trying to remain calm. He didn't know what awaited him on that stage, but all he could do now was see it through.

They sat in silence as the night ticked by. A server came by with their food as Merry started off the night, and a bunch of young poets, musicians, and singers performed for the delight and disdain of the happy crowd. Only a few ponies received boo's, but even those were accompanied by laughter—it all seemed to be in good humour. For Fiddler, though, it was an approaching nightmare. He wanted to hide; he had to hide—Cotton had seen him in the shadows, and by now the whole Service could know. He trembled; every time he looked at the spotlight he saw the Service and a schoolyard full of laughing faces.

Halfway through a ridiculously named poem—'The Stallions of Canterlot'—Octavia tapped his shoulder. "Are you feeling well?"

He turned and tried to answer, but succeeded only in making a unintelligible sound.

She smiled at him. "Don't worry," she said, warmly and calmly, "they'll like you. You're better than any one pony here tonight." He forced a smile, but it left quickly as he hung his head and stared at the table. Octavia leaned in by his ear. "If it helps, try to imagine the audience naked."

He paused, looking about the room. "Ummm..."

"Well, I'll admit that works better when we're performing for the aristocrats; makes them all regular ponies again." A half-smile worked its way onto his muzzle, but he couldn't appropriately appreciate the humour. He turned back to his half-eaten sandwich and pushed the plate around. He was stopped by Octavia's hoof grasping his own, and he looked up into her eyes.

"You'll be fine," she assured. "I know there's more ponies than you're used to, but don't worry about them. When you start playing, it won't be you that they see; it'll be your music. Play well, and you can be invisible."

The sound of applause and laughter washed over the room, and the filly on stage took a bow. "Thank you, thank you, Stanza, for that performance!" Merry shouted as she took the stage. "Wasn't she wonderful? Let's give her another 'round of applause!" The crowd happily complied as the filly returned to her seat, beaming. "Next up: a newcomer to Canterlot, hailing from the cloud city of Cloudsdale, Fiddler! Let's give him a warm Golden Gallop welcome!"

The audience stamped their hooves and let loose with cheers. Fiddler turned back to Octavia, who smiled at him and nodded. He swallowed hard, then picked up his violin and trotted up on stage.

The spotlight was blinding. The yellow light filled his vision, blocking out the audience and creating the illusion that he was alone; the knowledge that he wasn't only made the light stifling. All he could see was Cotton's face. Most of his instincts were telling him to get out of the light, to find the shadows, but a small part of his mind kept reminding him that Octavia was watching, that he had to do this. After a few agonizing moments, he closed his eyes, picked up his violin, and played.

He didn't know what he was playing, he didn't hear his own music. He ran the bow over the strings from an old memory. He didn't now how long he played, but it felt like he had played for an eternity when the bow stopped, and then it felt like he had stopped too soon. He froze, unsure of what to do next.

The sound of applause surprized him. Opening his eyes, he found that the spotlight was no longer blinding and the ponies all were smiling and cheering. For a moment, he was utterly stunned—he had no idea how to react to this. He just stood there, watching, while the café applauded him.

It was strange, this feeling coming up inside him. Here he was, in front of a crowd, the centre of attention... and yet, he wasn't being reviled—he was being welcomed. Slowly, ever so slowly, the faces of laughing foals were replaced by the smiles before him, and he began to see something he never thought he'd find.

A spotlight he liked—a stage he could hide on.

Merry came on stage and said her words, but Fiddler didn't hear any of them as he went back to his table. Octavia was smiling warmly at him, saying happy things that he didn't quite hear. His mind was elsewhere, still on stage and behind the light.

Maybe Octavia wasn't right about the crowd not seeing him; maybe he wouldn't be invisible so long as he held a violin, but who in the Service would look for him on stage? Cotton had seen him in shadow, because that was where he existed—always hiding, always ducking under cover. In the light, he would be somepony different. He could stand right in front of them and they'd never notice. He could play them music and they'd never see him.

After all, the best place to hide was in plain sight.

つづく
To Be Continued...

Comments

[defunct321]

Nice chapter, I'll be sure to be following this.