//------------------------------//
// Acceptance 
// Story: The Five Stages of Grief with Trixie Lulamoon 
// by Curly Q 
//------------------------------//

It’s very easy to hate her.

That is Trixie’s failing, one that she must overcome daily if she’s to make this friendship work. As the unicorn understands it her sentence could have been much, much worse. Luna was quick to demand banishment (the report of another Nightmare, willingly embraced, apparently hitting too close to home) and Celestia had not disagreed. But Twilight fought (fought!) for Trixie against the elder royals on the matter, until at last both sisters were forced to concede her point. After all, if Chaos himself could be reformed, why not a former Nightmare?

Luna did not have much to say in reply to that (to Twilight’s heart-pounding, “I just played chicken with God so I’m gonna go throw up now” relief).

Of course, actions have consequences. Every Princess agreed that Trixie could not be simply absolved with a wave of a hoof. Penance was necessary, carried out under the watchful eye of Twilight, beginning with the reconstruction of Ponyville. That the unicorn understood, even if the dirty looks and rough bumps throwing her off her concentration while she was lifting something heavy did get old very quickly.

Philistines.

A familiar routine by now, the rebuilding of Ponyville lasted twelve days, and by the time it was finished, one could never have guessed the whole of the town had lain in smoldering ruin less than two weeks ago. Not that it was a welcome exercise, as the Ponyvillians had pointed out, harshly and often. Trixie understands bitterness. She cannot fault them, even now, least of all when their scathing remarks on that going there did indeed expedite the reconstruction.

That said, she has absolutely no problem hating them for visiting upon Equestria that plague of plagues, the ruination of sanity and one’s property everywhere, on a scale that even the Nightmare could not hope to ever match: children.

“DINKY!” snaps the magician, “Put that down! That is an antique and not for- Snips! Snails! Trixie explicitly forbade you two from chewing gum in the library! Spit it out! And, for the love of the Sisters, will somepony wake up Berry Pinch?”

Of all the forms of punishments she could have been sentenced to, it had to be teaching. Had to, according to Twilight Sparkle, eyes lighting up in oblivous wonderment as she informed a horrified Trixie that the rest of her community service would be directed teaching the unicorn foals of Ponyville the basics of magic. There is no nobler duty than the sharing of knowledge, according to the Princess, and no better way to make friends than to make friends with their foals.

Trixie hates foals; they smell bad, break everything they touch, and feel the need to scream like they’re being horribly murdered every minute of every hour. And Twilight had fought tooth and hoof for the magician to serve in academia rather than join the Nightguard hunting Changelings in the Badlands, where the land itself revolted against the Hymn to remain arid and scorching even under cover of night. And if the heat didn’t get you, the Changelings would.

Trixie would have preferred the Nightguard.

It’s too easy to hate Twilight Sparkle. Much too easy. For the immortal alicorn embodiment of all Harmony and Friendship, her naiveté astounds and infuriates. Put a bunch of foals in a room with a paroled criminal and you won’t get ponies coming together in the spirit of betterment: you get dirty looks and whispered questions not quite out of earshot. And after four weeks of that, then said paroled criminal’s patience starts to fray, and then…

And then Trixie has to take a good long look in the mirror and remind herself why Twilight is a Princess and she is not.

So she makes the best of her situation, and goes to work with the tools that she has.

“We call the flow of magic that runs through our land the ‘Hymn’,” says the magician, her horn aglow with a lavender haze, “because, like music, our individual resonance harmonizes. Who can tell me what ‘harmonize’ means?”

“It’s like when ponies work together, right?” Sweetie Belle squeaks, waving a foreleg about like she means to hang a flag from it.

“Correct. Cooperation. Unity. Harmony. It is the basis of our entire culture, expressed through the homonymous Elements. Combine the five virtues we are taught by our mothers and one can create a force powerful enough to do anything.”

“Like give Rainbow Dash her soul back?” asks Snips.

“WHY DOES EVERYPONY KEEP BRINGING THAT-“ a moment to clear her throat, “Yes, Snips. They returned Rainbow Dash’s soul. And is just, if not the tip of the iceberg, then well below the water, though the ocean knows no limit in its depths.”

Firelock blinks. “Wait, why are we learning about the ocean now? Is it magic, too?”

“I… n-no, it’s a metaphor for the capabilities of magic.”

“What’s a metaphor?” asks Snails.

“It’s for meta…ing,” cries Bloo, trailing off as she realizes she doesn’t actually have a joke.

Sweetie Belle groans. “I hate grammar class!”

Such does the conversation run amongst the younger unicorns. Meanwhile Trixie finds her old friend Eyelid Twitch is back, once again threatening to preclude a mushroom cloud. She shuts her eyes. Deep breaths. There’s only six weeks left of these brats.

“Divided,” she announces, the edge to her voice cutting through all distraction in an instant, “We fall. You all did a wondrous job on the project this week, and now it just has to go up. Who would like to try and lift it?”

Argue not the eagerness of foals: nine miniature hooves pop into the air, and nine times do their tiny horns crackle, sputter, and fail to lift the banner spread across the library floor.

“You see?” Trixie continues, “Alone, we are hardly capable of anything. But if we work together…”

The glow of her horn intensifies into a flare of lilac, a double corona lighting upon her birthright as vaporous aether fills the air, thick enough to nearly swim through. In the violet haze, nine little horns wink into life, a spectrum of soft glows as they know true magical stimulus for much the first time. Capability finds direction as they try again, nine little fields seizing upon the edges of their project. Yet still it is not enough.

“Come now,” says the magician, “Merge your fields. Trixie can only supply the magic for you to channel.”

A couple of “how”s begin to roll off a couple of tongues, the words dying as the unicorns process the ancient and instinctual knowledge that now surfaces in their minds. The little bubbles expand, snapping into one another as they grow into individuality. Within a moment, the nine fields are gone, replaced with one solitary grasp of telekinesis that ripples like the dew in Rainbow Dash’s mane. Firmly grasped within their animus, the banner begins to rise at the foals’ direction.

Trixie must smile, in spite of herself.

“Divided, we fall,” she says, “But united…?”

“We fly!” squeals Sweetie Belle delightedly.

A sigh. “Oh, close enough.”

And it’s right then, in the magic of unity and harmony, the class project hovering high enough that it’s the first thing anypony sees when they walk in the library, that the door opens. The unicorns all glance down from their standard to find their Royal Highness Twilight Sparkle, mouth agape in the wake of what she beholds. It’s not just her archnemesis beaming at her. It’s not just the filly and company whom Rarity had written off as hopeless have at last grasped the fundamental basics of Harmony. It isn’t even the worn and messy, hoofpainted hanging bidding her “Congratulations, Princess Twilight Spark”.

It’s all of it at once.

She doesn’t cry. Maybe she gets a little misty eyed, but Twilight doesn’t openly sob at the sight before her. She drops onto her haunches, struggling for words before the Oh-So-Smug Trixie smirking at her. All she can manage is, “Twilight Spark?”

Trixie shrugs. “I’d think by now you’d be used to ponies running out of space to write on.”

“Uh-huh. What am I being congratulated on?”

“Beating the Nightmare twice. Rebuilding Ponyville in record time. Saving my flank. Take your pick. But if I had to choose…”

And Trixie trots up to her quasi landlord and runs a hoof under one mulberry wing.

“It’s getting a pair of these.”

Twilight frowns. “Trixie, I’ve had these for two months now.”

“I know. And I never congratulated you.”

Violet eyes meet violet, and for a moment, Twilight sees something in them. Something sincere.

Just a moment, though.

“Nice work, Sparkle,” says the Great and Powerful Trixie, “Keep it up, and this rate you may even keep pace with me.” And when the magician turns, batting her princess across the face with a silvery tail, Twilight can only sigh. Smile, but sigh regardless.

“Excellent work, everypony,” says Trixie, noting the perspiration gathering upon her students, “You can let it go now.”

There’s a uniform gasp around the room as the physical Hymn winks out of existence, the banner flopping gracelessly to the ground. The foals drop onto their haunches and bellies, sucking down great lungfuls of icy oxygen as exhaustion overtakes them.

“Aw,” Trixie croons, “Are my little ponies tired? Well, if you all need to be sent home to rest, I guess you’ll all miss out on…”

The room fills with silence, save for the tiny panting of Trixie’s students.

“I said you’ll all miss out on…!” she barks, banging a rear hoof against a wall that runs through the adjoining breakfast nook.

“Oh!” comes a squeaky giggle, and then the room fills with confetti and streamers as party favors pour from the ceiling. From the kitchen doorway speeds a cart laden with punch and cakes, somehow defying gravity with their decidedly equine shape, pushed onward by a pink ball of sugar-flavored adrenaline.

“This SUUUUPER fantastic ‘Congratulations You All Did Magic Slash Twilight Is The Besterest Princess Ever’ Party!” gushes Pinkie Pie as she and her cart of desserts bounce around the room.

How she doesn’t drop anything or trip over the balloons strewn across the floor is the real magic.

Twilight watches from the doorway, still frozen where she sits. She has to process how long it’ll take to clean up her library. How Pinkie does what she does. How long it took to make that banner. Whether or not the children rehearsed this at all. But most of all she has to look at the mare snarling at her pink co-star about missed cues and improper grammar, and process that she was the one that brought this moment about.

It’s very, very easy to hate Trixie. Much too easy. But sometimes, if you stick with her, she can surprise you.