Though there was no pony left, those that had attended the event certainly didn’t hesitate to leave behind signs they’d been there.
As North Ridge walked along the moonlit plaza, his eyes lingered on the trash left on the ground. Wrappers and the remains inside them, discarded drinks, and more than anything, posters that clearly had not been taken home.
He frowned, disappointed. It had been a great speech, he thought. Applejack had been inspiring, and the Princess even more so. Steady. Clear. Earnest. Everything a speech should be.
He picked up a few of the posters, as well as some other discarded objects near him, and trotted towards a nearby trashcan. The wrappers went in first, the drinks next, and he stopped when all that was left were a few of the posters. He didn’t need to read them—he already knew what they were; essentially the same as the ones in the newspapers—but he also didn’t have the heart to throw them away.
Instead, he tucked them into his saddlebag.
It was growing late, he noticed, and turned around to make his way back to his companion in the forest, but he stopped when faced with a shocking sight.
Sitting on a bench, alone and tired and looking very different from earlier, Princess Twilight Sparkle looked down at the ground, deep in thought.
He knew it was her. Not by her mane, obscured by the night; not by her cloak, covering her wings; not by the expression on her face, so similar to the one he saw in Rarity when left alone to think. He recognized her solely by the glowing pink crystal hanging from her neck.
My stars, he thought. It’s her. Just sitting there. I could walk up and talk to her.
His next thought shortly followed: I have to tell her.
His third came next: Look at what he’s done! The bastard! If she knew it was his fault! If she knew what’d he’d done!
But who am I to tell her? Should I tell her? Should she even know?
It would be a great betrayal, after all, if he acted at all.
Ignoring the weight in his heart, he turned around and trotted away, achieving five whole steps before changing direction and marching straight towards the Princess.
“Excuse me, Princess!” he called, his nerves taking over and his breath as frantic as if he’d just ran a mile. “Excuse me, please!”
“Y-Yes?” she asked, startled by this mad-looking elderly pony.
And the wind blew out of his sails.
He found, after all, that he was not able to tell her at all.
“I— I—” nervously said the stallion who’d once confronted the Manticore King of the West. “That was a good speech,” he ultimately said, and every word he hated. Coward! Coward, coward, coward! What would Frost Flower say? Wajinga! “I enjoyed it. I believe you.”
“I… Thank you? I appreciate that,” she replied and after a moment stood up. “I’m sorry. I have things to take care of.” She smiled at him genuinely. “Thank you for believing in me.”
And she left.
And he let her.
And when he came back to the little campfire near the outskirts of town, steeped in shame and frustration and helplessness, he wished his companion could sleep. When she asked what was wrong, he gave her the posters in reply.
“I saw her,” he said. “I spoke to her. Twilight.”
For the longest time, she said nothing.
“How did you find her?” she eventually asked, careful and measured.
He reflected on that a moment before replying: “The same way I find you.”
She did not ask more after that. She did not need to ask if he’d revealed to Twilight what was going on behind the scenes. After all, both knew that doing so would bring about quite terrible things.