The past few weeks had been extremely kind to Trixie.
Other ponies might have felt lucky in her shoes. They might have wondered what they had done to deserve being showered with bits, or staying in fine inns and eating three hot meals a day. Some of them, the wiser ones, might have started making plans for the future that didn’t rely on blind fortune.
Trixie wasn’t that kind of pony. It was obvious to her what she had done to deserve all those things: be herself. The hardships of her months on the road were an aberration, a series of unfortunate events that in no way reflected on her value as a pony. A monumental wrong was being undone and the universe itself was now a better place.
Still, she reflected, things could be better. Her performances in the streets and parks were pulling in a steady stream of income, but they weren’t generating much respect. Outside Canterlot she was the Great and Powerful Trixie; here she was just another street performer, applauded and soon forgotten as ponies went about their business.
So despite being warm, and fed, and having a place to sleep at night, Trixie came to an unusual conclusion – she decided she wasn’t a happy pony.
Yes, she felt happy most of the time, especially when surrounded by cheering crowds or scooping up the bits they tossed her way, but that wasn’t the same as being happy. The only way she could truly be happy was as the Great and Powerful Trixie.
And that was looking increasingly unlikely, as long as she stayed in Canterlot. The Great and Powerful Trixie required the worship and adoration of her fellow ponies, and worship was a limited resource when you lived in a town with a pair of celestial gods who moved the heavens on a daily basis. They had something of a monopoly on worship.
She mulled over her troubles while enjoying a sumptuous dinner at a cozy upscale bistro in Canterlot’s unicorn district. The Prancing Pony had become something of a hang-out for her, to the point that the cook already had her dinner laid out when she arrived. Lightly toasted oats drizzled with honey were artfully arranged on her plate, garnished with a delightful wood sorrel whose acidity gently offset the sweetness of the grains.
What to do, what to do. She pondered the question between bites, washing down the sumptuous mouthfuls with sips from a mug of warm, spiced cider.
She could leave Canterlot again, but that would mean, well, leaving Canterlot. She wasn’t that unhappy yet. A waiter pony carefully slid the empty plate out from in front of her, replacing it with a slice of frosted carrot cake still warm from the oven.
Halfway through the cake (which was unspeakably delicious) she had a sudden epiphany. Canterlot offered her the physical comforts and riches she deserved, but the ponies here were too blinded by the city itself to recognize her greatness. The ponies in the small towns and villages she visited, despite their quaint and humdrum lives, were in the best position to acknowledge her power and glory (and adore her appropriately). She was like the moon in their night sky, bringing radiance and magic to their darkness.
Oh, cruel fate! she lamented, finishing the last of her cake and licking the few crumbs that had escaped her from the plate. Forced to choose between a life of luxury and the worship she deserved! The dilemma was so painful she felt she should be crying.
She waited for the tears. They stubbornly refused to come.
She was probably just dehydrated from a long day of performing, she decided. After all, she was such a hard worker – probably the most industrious pony in all of Equestria, come to think of it.
The streets were dark when she finally left the bistro, the ornate gas lamps lining the streets just starting to light for the evening. The steady hum of ponies at work began to give way to the sounds of Canterlot’s nightlife – laughter, music and singing, and ponies shouting greetings to friends.
All the walk back to the hotel she pondered her dilemma. Stay and be comfortable but unfulfilled, or abandon Canterlot and go on the road again to be recognized as the Great and Powerful Trixie?
She was still thinking when she came to a particularly wide intersection, filled with fountains and trees and ponies playing with their friends. High above, unblocked by the buildings, loomed the alabaster towers of Canterlot Keep, home to Celestia and seat of her rule.
Perhaps, Trixie thought to herself, There is a third way. She tended to view the world in terms of black and white, and the thought of a third way startled her badly.
There were unicorns up there who had all the things she wanted, she realized. Members of Celestia’s court, rich beyond belief, honored and treated wherever they went.
And what had those aristocrats done to deserve such fortune? Nothing! She fumed at the injustice. She should be up there, as an honored member of the court – no, as the court magician!
She spent a few moments fantasizing about her new life in Celestia’s court. Other ponies were starting to give her odd looks when she finally snapped back to the present. With a blush she continued on her way.
***
Some members of Celestia’s court were lucky – that is, they were born into their positions. The unpopular Prince Blueblood, heir to a long line of unicorn nobility that had been among the first to rally behind Princess Celestia’s rule, was one such individual. His ancestors had done some brave and dangerous things, and generations later he reaped the benefit of Celestia’s gratitude. Barring some unforeseen genealogical discovery, this path to the court wasn’t in the cards for Trixie.
Most members of the court, however, earned their spot. Ministers, officials, officers, recorders and guards – even the servants were chosen for their positions based on merit and experience. This had the effect of creating a well-run and competent government, with Celestia herself mostly performing ceremonial duties, or occasionally making significant decisions that couldn’t be delegated. If the aristocrats sometimes complained that they had no real power, well, no system was perfect.
This second path was also unlikely at the moment. Although she was certainly the most qualified pony for the job of court magician, her recent record was… checkered, she decided delicately. It was unlikely she’d get a hoof in the door with her current resume if she tried applying for any court positions through the normal channels.
Fortunately, there were other ways to insinuate oneself into the halls of power. The princess was a mare of the people – she tried to be away from the court as often as possible, either out in Canterlot or visiting the distant parts of Equestria. When she couldn’t get away from Canterlot the court was often in open session, where any pony with a grievance or petition could appear before her and make their case. It was part of what made her such a popular monarch.
It was also terribly boring, Trixie had been informed. Although the issue of watering rights along the Split Hide River south of Hoofington might be of importance to farmers who trekked all the way to Canterlot to make their case before the princess, a day full of such presentations could be difficult to stomach. Even Celestia, with the literal patience of a god, sometimes grew tired of the proceedings.
Which was where the Great and Powerful Trixie came in.
“Name?” asked a middle-aged unicorn with a white coat, deep blue mane, and an air of utter and complete boredom that must have taken years to perfect. She was seated behind an imposingly large desk in the Hall of Petitioners (more of a room, really), writing down the particulars of everypony who had arrived that day to appear before the princess. Trixie was toward the end of the line, having decided that she had better things to do with her time than wait in a queue all day.
“The Great and Powerful Trixie!” she declared in her most imposing stage voice. The other petitioners turned to her in curiosity and surprise.
“Name,” the clerk repeated. It was not a question this time.
She shrunk slightly, stung. “Ah, Trixie will do, for paperwork purposes.”
The white unicorn squinted at her over the top of rather old-fashioned reading glasses. “That’s your full and true name, dearie?”
“It’s what I’m known as, yes!”
“Did I ask what you were known as?”
Trixie spluttered. She had half a mind to teach this insignificant paper-pusher some respect, but prudence came galloping to the rescue. Realizing this mare held the keys to her meeting with Celestia, she clenched her teeth and forced a smile onto her face.
“’Beatrice’ will do,” she said, politely.
“See? That wasn’t so hard.” The clerk’s quill scratched across the paper, levitated by her magic. “Complaint or petition?”
“Trixie has neither a complaint nor a petition!” she said, slipping back into her stage voice. “She has heard that Her Majesty is tired of these simple proceedings, and has come to delight and amaze the court with spectacular feats of magic!”
The clerk raised an eyebrow, the first actual change in facial expression Trixie had seen on her. “Really? Well, that’s different at least,” she said. Her quill made a few more scratches on the parchment. “I might step in to see that. This job does get a bit dull at times.”
Trixie gave her another smile, and then moved to wait in a comfortably stuffed arm chair, mentally reviewing her upcoming routine.
***
One fortunate consequence of being last in line among the petitioners was that Trixie was also the last to appear before the court. She was the closing act of the day, which was exactly how she liked it.
For days she had been preparing a carefully calibrated routine, combining equal parts dance and illusion. It was among the most sophisticated she had ever produced, designed to appeal to the refined tastes of the court, who valued skill and originality over sheer power and flashiness. It would serve as an appropriate introduction for her long-term stay.
The large double-doors leading to the throne room cracked open, and the unicorn clerk she had given her name to poked her head through the door. “Beatrice, you’re up.”
Trixie resisted the urge to correct her name. She hopped to her feet, checked to make sure her hat and cape were sitting correctly, and trotted through the doors.
The Court of the Sun Princess had a tendency to overwhelm ponies the first time they saw it. One of the largest enclosed spaces in Equestria, it had been the center of Celestia’s reign for over a millennium, and the years of authority and power had sunk into the very stones of the floors. Narrow windows, stretching dozens of feet up the stone walls, looked out both sides of the room onto the rising and setting suns and the city a thousand feet below. White marble flagstones, polished until they seemed to shine with their own light, clinked beneath the hooves of hundreds of ponies, crowding on either side of a red carpet that ran the length of the court. Overhead the vaulted ceiling had been decorated with suns and moons, stars and comets, and all the colors of the sky.
The red carpet beneath Trixie’s feet led from the double doors behind her all the way to the far end of the court. To her left and right ponies milled about, waiting for the court to end and the evening’s festivities to begin. She reached the end of the red carpet, knelt on the golden sunburst icon conveniently stitched there, and bowed.
Celestia, Princess of Equestria, Bearer of the Sun, The First Light of Dawn, looked down at the blue unicorn with the gentle smile she nearly always wore. To her side her majordomo, a brown earth pony with a white shield cutie mark, stomped his hoof three times on the floor, calling the room to silence.
“Presenting the unicorn Beatrice!” he announced. His voice rang effortlessly though the massive hall.
“Rise, Trixie,” Celestia said. Her words, though spoken softly, were heard by every pony in the hall. “I understand you are here to entertain us?”
Trixie came to her feet, her heart beating faster as it always did before performing. The lights seemed brighter, every sound seemed sharper – the world itself never felt more alive than when she was standing before an audience.
“The Great and Powerful Trixie is honored to appear before her majesty, to entertain the court with feats of spectacular magic!” She imitated Celestia’s voice trick, her words filling the ears of every pony present. She was about to launch into her routine when a tiny, niggling question appeared in her mind. Foolishly, she spoke it aloud.
“Er, if it pleases your majesty… how did you know Trixie’s name?” she asked.
Celestia tilted her head slightly, the gentle smile never leaving her face. “It is my business to know all my subjects,” she said quietly, her words for Trixie alone. “But in your case, I had some help.” A piece of parchment, resting on a stand by the princess’s side, suddenly glowed and floated into the air.
“A dear student of mine wrote to me about you, not so long ago,” she continued. “A blue unicorn with a magic wand cutie mark, who taught her a valuable lesson about friendship.”
The floor seemed to drop out from beneath Trixie. The edges of her vision went grey, and a rushing sound filled her ears. For a moment she saw herself back in Ponyville, cowering before the Ursa Minor, waiting for the claw to fall and swat her like an insect.
“Now then,” Celestia said, rolling the parchment back up and placing it on the stand beside her. “The floor is yours, Trixie.” She gave the unicorn a kind smile.
Everything Trixie had rehearsed fled from her mind. Her routine, the spells, her speech, even her reason for being in the court were all gone in an instant. Long seconds dragged on while hundreds of ponies stared at her.
Most mares wouldn’t have recovered in time, but Trixie wasn’t most mares. She was a Great and Powerful mare, and before the audience could realize how deeply Celestia’s words had cut, her performer’s instinct kicked in.
“Behold!” she cried, rearing onto her back legs. Reflex took over, and her mind defaulted to the standard performance she gave on her stage. It wasn’t as appropriate for the court as the elaborate dance routine she had been rehearsing, but it was better than standing in front of Celestia like a frightened filly. She had done this performance hundreds of times; she could do it in her sleep.
Her horn glowed and every light in the court vanished, replaced by a suffocating darkness broken by a magical spotlight with her at its center. Ponies gasped in surprise, and then crowded forward, eager for a closer view.
“Witness the spectacular magic of the Great and Powerful Trixie!” She spun in place, hooves splayed, as her magic replaced the darkness with a dozen shifting landscapes – a burning desert, a somber forest shrouded in fog, a spectacular mountain crested with snow. The crowd ooh’d and aah’d appropriately.
“Gasp in awe at her power!” Still going through her automatic routine, she waved a hoof over her head, setting off a chain of brilliant blue and silver fireworks that perfectly matched her coat and mane.
At this point Trixie noticed several things simultaneously, all of them bad.
First, she remembered why she had tried to develop a new routine specifically for the court.
Second, she realized the court, despite her magical illusions, was an indoor venue. Fireworks were highly inappropriate for indoor use.
Finally, she was granted a new insight into pony psychology. Although not normally high-strung creatures, ponies could be startled by loud, unexpected noises and explosions.
The fireworks detonated just below the roof of the court, slamming the crowd below with dozens of thunderous claps that shook the walls and knocked many off their hooves. The soaring glass windows on either side of Trixie exploded outwards in a rain of shards that tumbled hundreds of feet down the mountainside. An acrid, burning smoke instantly filled the room, stinging eyes and snouts and generally contributing to the chaos as the entire crowd began screaming and stampeding for the exits.
At the front of the hall, still lit by her silly spotlight, the Great and Powerful Trixie stood frozen with her hoof above her head, a look of shock and horror slowly dawning on her face. Only Celestia seemed unperturbed by the debacle as she gazed up at the scorched ceiling.
Well, Celestia and a small herd of royal guard ponies, who leapt from the wings of the hall and tackled Trixie to the ground.
***
Trixie was, once again, an unhappy pony.
She was no longer in chains, which was an improvement. The guard ponies had quickly concluded the disastrous performance was an accident after she hadn’t been able to stop crying for nearly an hour. They were about to throw her out of the keep when the furious majordomo arrived at the guard station where they were holding her.
A quick accounting of damages to the Court of the Sun Princess was provided to Trixie. Incinerated tapestries, shattered windows, blasted frescoes and smoke damage were all neatly listed on a sheet of parchment. Lacking the means to repay the court, she was turned over to the kitchen staff to work off her debt, or labor for one month, whichever came first.
And so the Great and Powerful Trixie, master magician and performer, found herself washing dishes in the Canterlot Keep kitchen. She wasn’t allowed to use her magic – like a common dirt pony, she used her hooves to scrub and rinse and dry. It was an odd combination of humiliation and irony: she had managed to join the court after all, though not in a position she wanted.
The third night of her new career found Trixie alone in the kitchens. The final meal had long since been served and the guests gone to bed, and the Keep settled into the quiet routines of the evening. She was racking the last of the dishes when she heard a set of quiet hoofbeats behind her.
“Excuse me,” came a soft, almost timid voice. “Are you the Great and Powerful Trixie?”
Trixie blushed, refusing to turn around. She hadn’t heard that name in days. An uncomfortable silence filled the kitchen, which she finally broke: “Yes, I am Trixie.”
The hoofbeats came closer. “I just wanted to say that was an amazing performance the other night.”
Trixie hated being mocked. She scowled and spun around, ready to give the pony a piece of her mind.
The dark blue unicorn in front of her took a tentative step back, startled by the sudden move. A pair of large wings beat nervously at the air before settling back to her side. Not a unicorn – an alicorn.
Trixie realized she was staring and quickly lowered her head. There were only two alicorns in Equestria, and this clearly wasn’t Celestia. “Princess Luna, forgive me,” she said. “I didn’t realize it was you.”
“That’s quite alright,” the soft, high voice said. Trixie felt a hoof beneath her chin, tilting her head up. “Please be at ease. I am not my sister.”
The alicorn’s touch was gentle as moonlight. A feeling of deep peace filled Trixie’s troubled soul, and displaced the grievance and shame of the past few days. The world around her seemed softer, its harsh lights dimmed and its sharp edges dulled by the power of the night. Her eyes closed, and for a moment she would not have regretted never opening them again.
Then the hoof was gone, and the cruel world rushed back to fill its place. She opened her eyes to see the inquisitive face of Equestria’s second princess just inches away.
Trixie gulped. “Thank you for your kind words, your majesty.”
“Please, call me Luna.” The alicorn gave her a slight smile, and looked for a moment almost like her sister, despite being her complete opposite. “I was sorry to hear you were arrested after the performance.”
A bit of the bitterness of the past hour returned to Trixie’s heart. “That was hardly a performance,” she said, forcing the words between her clenched teeth. “That was just the opening for a crude, flashy act Trixie gives to peasants. Trixie had an exquisite, breathtaking performance planned for the court!” She sighed. “But she forgot herself, and gave that foolish disaster instead.”
Luna stepped around her, her gaze fixed on the unicorn. “Nevertheless, it was impressive. Celestia told me she hasn’t had that much fun at the court in years.”
Trixie’s head lifted slightly, buoyed by the praise. “Really?”
Luna nodded. “Oh yes. Celestia and I are very powerful, but we lack the control and finesse of the greatest unicorn magicians. We are like hurricanes,” she said as she fixed her large eyes on Trixie, “but you are like a glass-blower. Only one of us creates art.”
Trixie stared at the alicorn, unable to form a reply. Luna giggled at the unicorn’s state, and then cantered toward the exit.
“It was good to meet you, Trixie,” she said over her shoulder. “I’m sure I will see you again.”
***
The Canterlot gardens were scarcely populated at night. A few ponies wandered the paths, nodding to their princess as they passed. Lamps lit the castle grounds, though the light of the full moon was bright enough to see by.
“So what possessed you to want to perform before the court?” Luna asked. They had stopped by one of the many fountains scattered around the gardens. A stone pegasus, mortally wounded by a spear, stretched a hoof to the sky; from its wounds a steady trickle of water flowed into a wide basin. Tiny fish, barely visible in the moonlight, darted through the waters in the pool.
Trixie dipped the tip of her hoof in the water, sending the tiny fish scattering. “I thought if I impressed the princess, she might offer me a position as court magician,” she said. She had long since stopped using the third-person to describe herself around Luna.
The alicorn giggled, the sound filling the garden like silver bells. “Silly unicorn,” she said. “There hasn’t been a court magician in centuries. I’ve been gone for a thousand years and even I know that.”
Trixie scowled at the darkness, and gave her friend a gentle shove with her shoulder. “I wanted to be recognized,” she said. “What good is being a magician if no one cares? If all you do is earn enough bits to survive?”
“There are many ponies who seem happy without being rich or great,” the princess replied. “The world would be a very sad place if only the great and powerful were happy.”
Trixie frowned, dropping her hoof on the edge of the fountain with a loud clop. “Trixie is not most ponies,” she said. She looked up at the night sky, her features softening slightly. “Ever since I got my cutie mark I’ve known I was different. Even as a filly I could perform magic like few other unicorns. But it meant nothing -- it means nothing unless the world recognizes it.”
Luna extended a wing, draping it over the unicorn like a blanket. “And do you still believe that?”
Trixie was silent for a while. Finally she nodded, a stern cast settling on her features. “Yes.”
They were silent a while longer.
“Trixie,” Luna finally said, “being great and being happy are not the same.”
“Yes they are!” she snapped. “The Great and Powerful Trixie was happy! I was happy! Now look at me!” She tore away from the alicorn before she could reply.
“I was adored!” she continued, speaking to the empty night, refusing to look at Luna. “Now I wash dishes, a dozen yards from the center of the court where I should be standing!”
“Trixie…” Luna tried to break in.
“This is not right!” she shouted. Her horn started to glow. “How can they do this to me? To Trixie!”
“Trixie please calm down.”
“Trixie will not calm down!” Flecks of foam flew from her muzzle as she shouted. The glow from her horn brightened as her magic leaked out, escaping her control. “Trixie asks… no, Trixie demands her rightful due!”
The silver light from her horn washed over the garden, overpowering the moon and lanterns. The grass beneath their hooves began to bend in an unseen wind, and the trees rustled overhead. The stone pegasus atop the fountain creaked, then slowly moved, its head turning to stare at the raging unicorn.
“ENOUGH!” Luna shouted. The sudden outburst stunned Trixie, who had never heard Luna raise her voice. The light surrounding her horn went out like a snuffed candle.
She sat down hard, her head bowed. After a long minute she found her voice.
“I’m sorry, Luna,” she said softly. “I just never imagined things ending up like this.” She sniffled.
Luna sighed, and walked over to the unicorn. “Trixie, take it from someone who learned the hard way. It is better to be a good pony than a great pony.” She gave Trixie a friendly nuzzle, and then tugged her to her hooves. “Come on, it’s late. Let’s get you to bed.”
Together they walked back to the castle.
***
“Only a few days left in the kitchen. Have you decided what you’re going to do next?”
Trixie sighed. They were out in the garden’s again, Luna’s favorite part of the castle. “I won’t be staying in the kitchen,” she said. “Aside from that, I haven’t given it much thought.”
“You could stay in Canterlot.”
“I probably will, for a while at least.” Luna visibly perked up as Trixie spoke. “Until I decide what to do next.”
Luna nodded, and the two resumed watching the gardens in silence. Eventually Luna spoke.
“Bit for your thoughts?”
“Oh, just wondering how some of this castle was built,” Trixie admitted. “There’s no other place in the world like it. I can’t imagine the magic it took to construct.”
“Oh, we cheated a bit.” Luna said, startling the unicorn. Sometimes Trixie forgot how old her friend was. “It would’ve taken decades to build using just earth pony muscle, or pegasus wings, or unicorn magic. Fortunately we had some lenses to help things along.”
Trixie blinked at the alicorn, completely lost. “Lenses? Like, telescope lenses?”
Luna shook her head. “It’s just a name. Lenses are magical artifacts that can focus a unicorn’s power, making them stronger at certain tasks. Like a lens focuses light, except they can look like almost anything. The magic wand on your cutie mark is a type of lens.”
Trixie stared at her flank in surprise. Wands had long been a part of pony folklore, but she’d never known they were real.
“Do they still exist?”
Luna tilted her head, as if surprised by the question. “I’m honestly not sure. They were rare when I was banished, but I haven’t seen any since my return, except for Celestia’s. I wonder if the secret of their creation was lost.”
Trixie deflated. It was like being given a present for your birthday, and opening it to find a saddle instead of a toy. Then she parsed the rest of Luna’s answer.
“Wait… Celestia’s?”
Luna nodded. “That gold torc she always wears is a lens. I’m not sure what its function is, but it’s definitely the most powerful I’ve ever encountered.”
Their conversation drifted onward, but for the rest of the night Trixie found her mind wandering back to lenses, and the golden torc ever around Celestia’s neck.