"It has been said that the measure of a society is reflected in how it treats its downtrodden, its sick, and its unfortunate. In this regard, Equestria shines above its neighbours. Many of our neighbouring nations hold somewhat equal economic or social power to Equestria, but their drive for individual prowess leaves many of their citizens behind. Equestria, under the wise and noble rule of the Princess, has turned to care for these lost citizens of its own. Of all the charitable organizations dedicated to helping the unfortunate back onto their hooves, all of them are created, run, and funded by our citizens, and none of them have need of volunteers or resources..."

The four ponies waited on the stoop, and Grey Gale hesitated a moment before knocking; his doubts had resurfaced with ferocious tenacity. In the time it took to quell them again, Spell Swirl asked him the same question: "You're certain?"

"Perceptive, aren't you?" Gale didn't try to disguise the venom in his voice—Swirl took the hint and fell silent. Gale lifted his hoof, but paused again. He had come to see this 'Fiddler' a few days ago, but the visit had settled nothing. Fiddler's eyes were the wrong colour and his cutie mark was exposed and completely unlike Autumn's, but the pony's mannerisms and speech matched his profile. He'd left the pony alone, but soon after wondered if—maybe—he truly was a unicorn disguising himself with magic. Stakeouts revealed little—he went to bed, fell asleep, and no illusion dropped; no horn appeared. Gale's gut still churned with certainty, with conviction, but his mind was hard in following. He needed more proof, and so here he was again.

"You were taking too long," she responded. "This mission is dull enough already." He scowled at her, but now was neither the time nor place for anything more. Instead, he simply waited with the rest of them for the door to open.

"Please, come in." She stood to the side, allowing Gale and his companions entrance to her home before closing the door after them. "May I take your coats?"

Dusk began taking hers off and Starwind clicked her tongue. "Seems rather rude, don't you think, to ask that when only one of us is wearing one? Are the rest of us supposed to feel underdressed, or just supposed to strip off our coats?"

"Well, your coat is a pretty silver," a voice said—Gale looked forward and found a white unicorn mare leaning on the den doorframe. "You can't blame her for trying."

"Be nice, Vinyl," Octavia said, hanging Dusk's coat on a nearby hook. "She's a guest."

"How true," Gale said, turning his head to face Starwind. "I believe an apology may be in order."

"That won't be necessary," Octavia said, stepping in front of them. "She's right; it was my mistake. Starwind, I apologize if I made you feel unwelcome—I hope I may be able to make it up to you. May I offer all of you some tea?"

She smiled. "This way, please. Vinyl, if you would be so kind as to collect my violin?" Vinyl grumbled, but trotted off upstairs as Octavia led the group to the den. She collected the teapot on the table and retreated to the kitchen.

There it was again: that tic in his speech that set his gut screaming. With luck, he'd have his answer today. He turned and gestured. "These are my companions. Starwind you know; this is Dusk and Spell Swirl. They are the ones planning the event, so they're the ones you'll need to impress."

"I shall do what I can," Fiddler said, shaking their hooves. "Is there anything in particular you would like to hear?"

Vinyl came trotting back in, a violin following behind her. She looked around, then floated it over to Fiddler. "Don't break it," she said.

Fiddler accepted the instrument and began tuning it. It seemed to Gale that he took longer than most musicians he'd seen, but perhaps he was simply imagining things. Octavia returned with the tea before he finished, setting the tray on the table. She poured their cups with a smile. "Please," she said, "enjoy."

As they each collected their tea, Fiddler stood up before them, violin in hoof, and began to play. Gale listened quietly for a time, trying to hear what Frederic called hobby playing. He didn't have the ear, though, so he abandoned the attempt and leaned close to Dusk. "Well?" he whispered.

Dusk was holding her cup in her magical grasp, using that to disguise the fact she was casting spells. She shook her head and replied under her breath. "He isn't under any kind of glamour, nor am I detecting any otherwise unusual magical signatures."

"One monster of an aura, though," Spell Swirl whispered. "Definitely one of the strongest I've seen."

"Yeah. It's kind of a 'cutie mark magic,' if you will. All ponies tend to radiate some energy when they're expressing their talent—the more they express it, the stronger the aura."

"It's usually undetectable," Dusk added, "but Swirl's right—you can just barely feel it." She chuckled quietly. "Guess he really loves his music."

Gale frowned; Frederic had lamented this pony's talents, but this 'aura' was suggesting the opposite. He had sought answers but only found more questions; still no proof, still no confirmation, and how could he suggest this pony to Lock if he couldn't even convince himself? He needed to do something else, try to put things on his terms, not Fiddler's, or whomever he really was. How, though? he wondered, leaning back and forgetting the world around him. How?

Time slipped by. Fiddler stopped playing and their host had engaged his party in idle conversation over tea. He listened with half an ear, but still couldn't come to any solutions shy of foalnapping Octavia and getting Fiddler to reveal himself. Granted, locking Dew up hadn't seemed to do anything, and if he was wrong about Fiddler...

"It was a lovely morning," Dusk said; Gale understood that to mean their welcome was up. Reluctantly, he dragged his mind back into the present.

Gale stood up, giving a farewell nod to Octavia. Starwind, he saw, was crawling over Spell Swirl, whispering in his ear while the stallion glowed crimson. Playing her games again, but it mattered little; the mission was over. Back to square one—time to plan the next step. Reluctantly, he realized he'd have to entertain the possibility that Fiddler was a goose chase. Perhaps he'd give that letter a little more consideration, see where that led.

The noonday sun did little to light his darkening mood as they left, heading back toward the palace. "So, then," Starwind asked, sliding up beside him, "what next?"

She began to chuckle. "Really? Giving up on this fiddling pony? Weren't you so sure?"

His ear flicked. "There isn't enough proof to pursue him yet. We must explore other options."

Her smile was sultry, knowing, and arrogant. "I mean he's a pony who's good at hiding. I mean he's better than you. I mean you can't find him, even when he's standing right in front of you."

She hopped up onto his back and whispered into his far ear. "His aura never dropped."

"Swirly said it himself, didn't he?" she asked, looking over her shoulder to him. "A pony's aura shines when they express their talent?"

Swirl nodded. "She told me to check it, so I did. Even after he'd stopped playing it was there, just as strong."

"His talent mustn't be music, then," she continued, "so what could it be? If a pony with a musical mark as plain as day doesn't talent in music..." She trailed off, and licked Gale behind his ear.

Hiding right in front of us. He turned, looking back at Octavia's front door. "Even in plain sight, he cannot be seen."

Fiddler couldn't help but smile as he watched the two mares. It was a strange relationship, he thought; the two of them were so dissimilar, and yet... he remembered all the masks that Octavia wore and wondered. Who am I seeing now?

Vinyl continued to lament their late guests until Octavia cut her off. "Enough, Vin; they're my guests, and if I choose to tolerate them it's my choice. Now, if you're through complaining, perhaps you could help us clean up."

"Oh, geez, I can't," Vinyl protested, crossing her hind legs. "I really gotta take a piss, or I'm going to start leaking everywhere."

Octavia responded with silence and an icy glare—Vinyl looked oblivious as she began dancing in place. "You know where to go," Octavia finally said.

"Well, she does perform at the nightclubs fairly often," Fiddler offered. "Surely that crowd influences her some."

"She's always been like that." She smiled and looked his way. "Can you believe that some ponies think we're dating?"

Octavia rolled her eyes, chuckling with a knowing smirk. "Anyway, shall we clean up?"

The next few minutes were anything but idle as he assisted her. There had been little time to do any cleaning earlier, so all the mess from Frederic's lesson, Vinyl's abrupt arrival, and Gale's evaluation had all congealed into a single mass to be picked up. He didn't mind—it was light work, and he enjoyed the company.

Octavia's hooves were deep in dishwater when there was a knock at the door. "Oh, pony feathers. Fiddler, could you get that, please?"

As he trot down the hall, he realized he felt oddly at peace. Here he was, living life like a regular pony, never worrying if others might find him or about the plots of foreign nations. He tried, but he couldn't think of any time when he'd been able to do that—even in his foalhood he'd never been able to just be at ease like this. It was a warm feeling, and he was smiling when he opened the door.

Standing on the stoop was a tan-coated, amber-maned earth pony, wearing a black tailcoat that covered his flank. He glanced over Fiddler once. "Always figured you were a pegasus," Spotter said. "I can see why you wore the mask, though; the scar's pretty distinctive."

For a moment, Autumn did nothing. Then, warily, he stepped aside. He didn't know Spotter's intentions, but he reasoned that if Spotter were against him, he would already be in a cell somewhere. Even so, Spotter's arrival was a mystery. "What are you doing here?"

"Thought that'd be obvious," he replied, preferring to examine the hallway around him than look at Autumn. "There've been some terrible things said about you, you know. Strong evidence, even—but of course, that's been planted. And then there's the posters..." He shook his head. "A lot of work has been put into catching you, and it can't just be for disobeying some orders." He set the vase he'd been inspecting down and faced Autumn. "What did you do?" Autumn said nothing, and so Spotter shrugged and returned to the vase.

Spotter looked over to see her stepping into the hall. "Aa! Hello, there!" he greeted.

"Good afternoon," Octavia returned. "I'm sorry, I don't believe we've been introduced?"

"Call me Canopy," he said, taking Octavia's hoof in greeting. "I'm an old associate of Fiddler here; taught him a few things, got him to a few places. Never imagined he might end up in the house of the Octavia Melody, though. Good to see he doesn't need my help for everything."

Octavia's head tilted slightly as she looked over the earth pony before her. "You helped him?" she asked. "In Cloudsdale?"

Canopy nodded, then gave an apologetic laugh. "Oh! No, sorry—not in Cloudsdale, per sé; I'm not allowed up there, but the pegasi do employ liaisons to assist in positive relations with us land-dwellers. I mean, I hate to sound racist, but some of them really are airheads."

She raised an eyebrow, but otherwise let the comment slide. "Well, then; it's a pleasure to meet you, Canopy. May I get you anything to drink?"

"That would be wonderful, but I'm afraid I can't stay. I need to talk with the colt here, so I'll be borrowing him for the afternoon. I apologize for the trouble, but this really cannot wait."

Octavia glanced over at Autumn, searching, before returning to Spotter. "You're both grown stallions," she said, a corner of her mouth lifting. "I'll trust you to have him back before midnight."

Spotter gave a sloppy salute. "Eleven fifty-nine it is," he said with a smile, then turned back to Autumn. "Well, let's go."

Autumn didn't move—he stood rooted as Spotter trot to the door. Will he take me back to the palace? he thought. Did he come by just to make sure it was me? Spotter passed him and, as though he could read minds, answered. "I'm not turning you in," he whispered. "We have things to discuss."

Autumn hesitated only a moment longer, his uncertainty slowly giving way. After all, he had come to rely on Spotter's judgement in the field, so why shouldn't he give him the same trust now? "I... will see you later, then," he said to Octavia, then followed Spotter out of her house.

"I'm impressed, you know," Spotter said. It had been several minutes since they'd left, and they'd been walking in silence. "That cutie mark doesn't look faked in any way. How did you manage that?"

"Because I can still tell you're lying." He cocked his head. "You've gotten better, though. Been taking lessons or something?" Autumn was silent, so Spotter shrugged. "Doesn't much matter I suppose. Can you do others?"

A nod. "Useful." They walked in silence for a bit, giving polite hellos to passing ponies, then Spotter looked back over his shoulder. "You eaten yet? There's a lovely little café downtown you should try; we can talk there."

Autumn nodded slowly, and Spotter took that as a cue to change course. Autumn didn't pay much attention to where they were going, but once they reached their destination he couldn't help a dry chuckle. "'The Golden Gallop'?"

Inside, he barely recognized it. The curtains were thrown back and skylights were uncovered, letting the place shine with sunlight. He could now see some gems in the ceiling, catching the light and scattering it around the café; the effect was beautiful, but very different from the night-time light of the fireflies. All in all, he decided that he liked it better at night.

The midday rush had ended, so the café was quiet and sparsely occupied. Spotter chose a distant corner table, picking up a menu and examining it carefully. After a few seconds, he peered over the top of it. "You can get something, you know."

"Of course not, they locked your accounts. You think I don't know that?" He pushed a menu over. "I've got you covered."

Autumn glanced down at the menu, but was interrupted before picking it up. "Hey! Welcome back!" Merry approached their table, bearing a wide smile. "Spotter, Fiddler; I didn't know you two knew each other!"

Spotter smiled. "Merry. I see you haven't been properly introduced." He flicked his nose in Autumn's direction. "This is Autumn."

Autumn stopped breathing and Merry's eyes widened. "Really? And you're a pegasus?" Her voice had dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. "No wonder they're having a hard time finding you. Works, though—I think half the Service figures you've skipped town." She cocked her head. "How'd you change your cutie mark like that?"

"You won't get a straight answer," Spotter said, hoofing through the menu. "A stallion's got to have some secrets."

"Of course, of course," she agreed, nodding. "Well, then, what may I get you, aside from some privacy?"

Spotter glanced over at Autumn, who was slowly remembering how to breathe, and shook his head. "I'll have the floral basket, figs on the side. He'll have your daily sandwich. And two waters."

"Coming right up," she said, smiling. Her horn glowed for an instant before she walked away for the kitchens.

Spotter nodded. "She's a Hunter—gathers rumours. I'd say she knows at least ninety per cent of what the city talks about; the rest is the purview of the aristocracy, few of whom visit places like this. But that isn't why we're here. Tell me: why were you declared a traitor?"

"Worried? Don't be. I've convinced her of your innocence and that something's wrong in the Service. We both think you may be the key to that, which is why I'm asking you why."

Autumn looked around the café; the few other customers were out of casual earshot, but still... "Is this the best place to—"

"Merry's given us some privacy," Spotter interrupted. "Her spell makes it so others think we're conversing in a different language. Now: what happened?"

He paused, even as he realized he couldn't fight it. Instead he shook his head. "You found me, you know I am innocent, and for all that you do not know what happened?"

"I'm not omniscient, you know," Spotter chuckled. "They're keeping it a good secret: Golden Lock has always been good at that."

Spotter cocked an eyebrow. "You didn't know? He was the one who passed the decree."

"I..." Autumn hesitated, but only for a moment. "I knew there were traitorous councilmares—I believed that Lock was merely following their word."

Spotter was silent, then took a deep breath and pressed his hooves together. "All right, then: from the beginning."

This time, Autumn didn't hesitate. He told Spotter about the treason and the drive to war and Octavia, but when he told him about Luna he paused, ashamed; he hadn't contacted her since he'd been seen at Manorial's. He'd been too shaken that night, and then there was the open mic and practicing with Octavia and the lessons with Frederic... He'd gotten swept up in his act and now, a week late, he felt like a schoolfoal outside the classroom after the bell.

Merry had come by and delivered their food, but neither of them had touched it. Spotter ground his teeth. "So, what now?"

"And you've just been waiting? I'd've thought you'd be chomping at the bit since Dew was arrested."

"You didn't know? She was detained for helping you. Lock hasn't really been keeping it a secret—surely Luna would've..." Spotter paused, then closed his eyes and grimaced. "You haven't contacted the Princess lately, have you?"

Spotter chuckled dryly. "You really are something else, you know that?" He picked up a fig and took a bite. "You find treason in the Service, somehow manage to get Princess Luna to start looking out her window, evade the Service's best hunters, and yet you freeze up the moment somepony so much as glimpses you—all that work suddenly amounts to nothing."

"What else could I do?" he asked. "They saw me, they... they know what to look for."

"You sure as tartarus don't give up. Had you not done that, you'd know they're not sure if it was really you they saw. Just a glimpse, the barest outline of a pony, and suddenly the bookshelf falls on them." He leaned closer and glared at Autumn. "Hardly enough for a good look."

It was a losing battle, and Autumn knew it. He knew it before he'd started, maybe even the first time he'd set Luna's bracelet back down, and he couldn't find any more words to defend himself. There were none—Dew was in trouble, and if it weren't for his cowardice that could have been prevented. Now, though, all he could hope for atonement. He stood. "I have to go."

"Where?" Autumn stopped, but gave no answer. Spotter tapped the table. "You're not going to save her by charging in the front door, you know; Lock can hope you'd be so stupid. You need a plan."

Spotter paused, his mouth agape. Finally, "You really are a fool, aren't you?" He leaned back in his seat, an amused smile on his lips. Autumn stood there, wanting to leave but waiting to hear Spotter's next words. So he waited as Spotter took another bite of his fig, chewed thoughtfully, then stood. "Come with me," he said. "There's someone you need to see."

She explored the quarry with her lifemate. She was flying low, teasing him, staying just beyond his reach. He ran along the ground, joy singing in his eyes and smile. She swooped down, tackling him in a loving embrace. They rolled on the ground, laughing.

"A father," he whispered. There was a light in his eyes that could pale the sun as he smiled. "I'm going to be a father." She kissed him—nothing could ruin this moment.

There was a growl. She turned and saw two Diamond Dogs jumping at her, one carrying a rope. Instinctively, she rolled to her hooves so she could get to the air, but the dogs were upon her, grasping at her wings and fumbling with the rope. She would have cried out, but her voice died in her throat.

"NO!" Suddenly the weight of the dogs was off her. She looked over; her lifemate was on his hooves, his horn aglow and his face twisted in rage. He turned, and she saw several more dogs coming out of the quarry holes. They stood back defensively, growling at her lifemate. "Go," he whispered at her as a large dog carrying a staff emerged. "Get somewhere safe; I'll be right behind you." The glow around his horn increased, and the large dog laughed and raised his staff.

She took to the skies. Behind her there was a flash of light and the dogs howled. She looked, and her lifemate was lying on the ground surrounded by the dogs. A part of her wilted, and before she realized it, she was barrelling into the dogs, knocking them away from her love. She stood over his prone figure, wings flared, snarling, and tears running from her eyes. The large dog smiled as he pointed at her, and at his command all the others leapt forward at her.

She charged; for all her strength, she charged. She charged because she couldn't bear to leave her love; she charged because she knew, she just knew, she had to try; mostly, though, she charged because it was all she could do. She charged into the dogs, and they grabbed her as she came at them. She kicked and snapped her wings at them, but they dragged her down and her right wing made a sickening snap as they tried to tear her wings off, but the large dog yelled at them. Instead, they tied her wings tightly to her sides. The pain was excruciating, and through her tears, she looked at her lifemate, lying motionless on the ground.

Clear Skies awoke screaming in a cold sweat, a burning fire in her right wing as it twitched while her left beat uselessly against the ground. Her eyes cast about, searching, before she realized where she was. She swallowed hard to calm her panicked breaths, stilled her wing, and wiped the tears from her eyes.

She stood and dusted herself off. Grass wasn't the most comfortable thing to sleep on, but it afforded her a view of the stars and open sky—she couldn't sleep otherwise. Even something as simple as being indoors could send her into anxiety attacks. The few ponies around her were watching her with a mix of curiosity and fear, but she was used to their stares.

The sun had just crested the horizon, so she went down to one of the streams flowing through the city and dove in, washing away last night's turmoil. She came to the surface and stayed there a while, swimming in place—it almost felt weightless, almost felt like flying again. She stretched her wings, but her right was crooked and only made it halfway. In the water, though, she could pretend it was flapping at full strength, flying against the wind.

Hunger finally drove her from the stream, and she nibbled on some grass to quiet her stomach. The soup kitchen wouldn't be open for another half-hour, but they had good food for those who needed it. After drying off in the sun, she made her way there.

Skies nodded and picked up a bowl, using it as an excuse not to talk. Ladle was good company—all the ponies here were—but none of them could understand what she'd been through. Every time she tried to talk to them it always ended with them giving her some empty assurances or fortune-cookie advice about silver linings or how rain must fall for crops to grow. If she didn't realize how helpful they were trying to be, it might have been insulting.

The day's soup was a salty cucumber with celery—filling, but left her thirsty. She ate in silence, sitting outside the door and watching the sky. It comforted her to see the boundless reaches, but a part of her burned for not being able to fly into it—almost another kind of prison. She drank the last of her soup and looked away; her place was on earth now, away from the sky, where her love was birthed and died. She returned the bowl and left without a word.

There were few ponies on the streets as she walked through the city—most early risers were the shop owners. She kept her head down, trying to ignore the world around her as well as to avoid notice. Even so, she couldn't prevent the word 'traitor' from reaching her ears. Almost on instinct she turned toward the offensive word and found two mares in conversation. Neither noticed her, and she fought down her rising bile—Canopy had warned her against speaking out. It was with great effort that she turned away and continued on her way.

She spent the rest of the morning in the central park, watching the young foals play and pretending that one was hers—it was a threadbare illusion, but it was enough to make her smile. She watched one of the colts trying to impress the fillies as the sun drifted lazily overhead, and for a while she didn't have a care in the world. She could close her eyes and have peaceful dreams.

Her eyes snapped open to the distant sound of a dog's bark, and her body contorted itself as it tried to escape in every direction at once. She collapsed in a tangled pile, her wracked mind slowly reminding itself that she was safely in the heart of Canterlot.

The pony's voice was warm and friendly, and for a moment she hated its owner. She kept her eyes down as she straightened herself out—she was tired of being pitied. "I'm fine, thanks."

She would have screamed at him to leave her alone, screamed that she didn't need his pity, but his voice sounded familiar; she looked up at him and smiled. "Of course, Canopy. Anytime."

Canopy sat beside her and another pony joined him; her breath caught the moment she saw him. His were colours she could never forget—his chestnut coat, his hazelnut mane, his eyes glowing—but, no; his eyes were the wrong colour, his cutie mark wasn't the mask, and there were wings poking through his vest.

Skies swallowed hard, trying to keep her spirits up. Canopy was there, at least, and he was a friend she knew. She forced a smile and turned to him. "Who's your friend?" she asked.

"Ah, of course; where are my manners?" Canopy chuckled as he gestured between them. "Clear Skies, this is Fiddler; Fiddler, meet Clear Skies. She's been a little down on her luck recently, so don't judge her too harshly."

Clear Skies hesitated a moment, then took it in her own. "Likewise," she said. As she shook his hoof, she noticed the scar that crossed his left eye, and for a moment wondered what he'd been through—wondered if he could understand.

"A little better, I guess," she replied, looking back out over the park. "I've been trying those exercises you suggested; I think they're helping. I feel a little calmer, anyway."

Canopy nodded. "That's good. I'm glad, you know; slow progress is still progress."

It was a nice feeling, this warmth. She was still a far cry from being able to live again, but it was good to know that there was one pony she could talk to, one pony who understood. Her eyes flicked over to the stranger he'd brought, to the scar over his eye. Maybe more than one. "Have... have you two eaten yet?" she asked.

The cottage she lived in wasn't her own; it was donated housing, paid for by the kind citizens of Equestria for anypony a little down on their luck. There were a few other mares who used them, but they had prospects and were never around during the day. As she led them to the door, Canopy stopped and lifted his brow—she smiled and nodded. "It's okay. It isn't so bad when other ponies are around." It was truth, but she still took a moment to gather herself before stepping inside.

The cottage was small—two bedrooms, one bath, and one room for everything else. Skies bid her guests to sit while she pulled some food from the cupboards. There wasn't anything fancy—just flower sandwiches and maple milk—but it was a meal with friends, and there was nothing better than that.

They thanked her as she served them, making idle conversation as they ate. Throughout the meal she watched Fiddler, wondering how he got his scar. It would be rude to pry, though, so she settled for something less invasive. "So... how do you two know each other?"

"Not just," Canopy added. "We've had the opportunity to try a few different things, and we've helped each other through some difficult times."

That was something she could understand—she was going through it. "Heh. You're good at that."

"I only do what I can," Canopy said, "and that isn't much. You're the strong one here, making it through everything you did. You should feel proud."

Her ears drooped as she looked to the floor. "I've done nothing," she said. "I just survived."

"That's hardly 'nothing,' Skies; there aren't many ponies who could manage that."

It wasn't the first time she'd heard that, but though she didn't have a good argument against it, she still couldn't bring herself to believe it. Instead, she just picked at her sandwich, waiting for the silence to pass.

She looked up at him with a rueful smile—it wasn't the best subject to try to break the silence with. Still, it was a question she'd come to expect a pegasus to ask, if only because it was something they could relate to. "Broken," she replied. "I'll probably never fly again."

"They threw her out," Canopy interrupted. "Her condition isn't life-threatening, you know, so treatment fees aren't waived. They were being paid for by Autumn." He cast a sly glance in Fiddler's direction. "Surely you've heard that name before?"

"He's not a traitor," Skies growled, her eyes darkening. "He risked his life to—" She bit off the rest, mentally berating herself. Canopy had warned her, and she'd almost broken it twice today.

Canopy smiled. "Yes, well. The details will, I'm sure, bore you. Suffice it to say that her accounts were closed when she was presumed dead a few months back, and her parents are refusing to help. Unless her wing gets fixed, she can't take her old job as a weathermare, so without any bits of her own, she was given an eviction. Politely, of course," he added, sipping his milk.

Fiddler sat uncomfortably, shifting in his seat. Finally, "Why... are her parents not helping?"

Canopy looked to Skies and raised an eyebrow. She understood—he wasn't going to answer for her. "Because my whole family are pure-blood pegasi," she said, "and I married a unicorn and spoke out in defence of an earth pony."

She nodded. "They think I've brought shame on the family by living with the 'earthbound.' They're hoping this might teach me a lesson, or something—I've stopped listening to them."

"They might've been willing to help after her lifemate passed," Canopy continued, "but she truly alienated them when she protested Autumn's accusation. Of course, that also attracted the attentions of those who accused him in the first place. I had to convince her to quiet down before they did something." He chuckled. "Let me tell you, she fought hard against it—for a while I worried she wouldn't, but..." He let the sentence hang, taking the moment to enjoy his sandwich. "I'm glad she did, though," he continued. "Those ponies are ruthless. There were others, you know; Dew, Gleam, Last Leaf... Isn't it strange how the fall of one can affect so many?"

Fiddler had shrunk into his seat, staring at the floor. He'd hardly touched his sandwich since this conversation began. Skies was about to say something when he spoke. "I..." He paused, then looked up at her. "I am sorry to hear about your... your situation. If there is anything I can do..."

The rest of the lunch passed smoothly, easily. Canopy gave her some bits he could spare—enough for a few good meals—but she gave half of it back. Fiddler stayed quiet most of the time, lost in his own thoughts, but he was genuinely concerned for her; she liked that. It wasn't pity, or concern born from embarrassed shame, but a real caring. She'd almost forgotten what the was like.

"It's been a real pleasure, Skies," Canopy said as they got ready to leave. "You sure you don't want help dragging your bed outside?"

She chuckled. "I've tried that. The rain ruined the mattress and my landmare forbade me from doing it again. But it's alright—I'm used to the grass by now."

She nodded. "Can't sleep inside." Fiddler's ears drooped and he looked away, pawing at the ground. "It's okay," she assured him, "I'm used to—"

She was cut off by a flap of wings and him taking to the sky. Skies blinked twice as he vanished from view, then raised a curious eyebrow at Canopy, who shrugged in return. "Perhaps he's a little high-strung," he said.

She rolled her eyes, but before she responded a shadow passed over her, and then Fiddler landed beside her. He kept his head down, stealing glances at her as he spoke. "I... fear this is not much, but... perhaps it may help. It is softer than the grass, at least." As he said that, he pushed a piece of the sky toward her.

A small lump formed in her throat. It was a little thing, but after being so long trapped on the ground it felt so much bigger. She reached out and touched the cloud; it was soft and damp under her hoof. She smiled. "Thank you."

His expression suggested he didn't believe it. "I-I know it is not... I just thought that—"

She cut him off with a hug. "Thank you," she repeated. "Really." It caught him off-guard, but she soon felt him returning it. She broke away, smiled, and hopped onto the cloud. "It's like..." She closed her eyes and spread her wings as best she could. "It's like I'm flying again."

"Well, then." She glanced down and saw Fiddler, one hoof on her cloud with his wings outspread. He gave her a little push. "Care to fly with me?"

Autumn arrived at Octavia's home just as the sun touched the horizon. He felt a fool; all this time he'd been hiding, keeping himself safe. Even if it was for the briefest of moments, he'd forgotten about everypony else and what would happen to them. If Spotter hadn't been there to remind him... he shuddered to think of what might've happened. Now, though, they had a plan, and there was someone he had to talk to.

He opened the door and was greeted with the sound of music and laughter. He paused a moment—Octavia hadn't had guests this late before. Well, aside from me. He shook his head and set the thought aside; he had work to do, and this didn't concern him. He ignored the noise and headed for the stairs.

He almost grimaced at Octavia's welcome, but put on a smile as he stepped back into view of the den. "Octavia," he greeted, "Miss Scratch; it is good to see you both again." He paused, looking around the room. There were several bottles of wine and whiskey on the table, though only one had been opened. Accompanying them was a small cake decorated with an unlit candle. A turntable sat in the corner, a record spinning lazily on its platter. The song was clearly from Vinyl's collection, though it was calmer than what she usually played—closer to Octavia's taste, really. "What..."

"Vinyl's giving me a birthday party," Octavia explained. "It isn't until tomorrow, actually, but since I'll be at the Gala, today's as good a day as any." She beckoned. "Would you like to join us?"

Vinyl's eyes narrowed. "Oh, come on, Tavi. Him, too? This was supposed to be our night!"

"He is my friend, Vin, and my guest," she admonished. "Besides, if this is my party, how can you object? The more the merrier, yes?"

Vinyl reddened slightly and looked away. After a few seconds, she shook her mane and huffed. "Fine," she said, facing him again. "You coming or what?"

He looked away. Yesterday he wouldn't have hesitated to join them, but now the act felt completely alien. "I... cannot. I apologize, but there is some important business that I must attend to, something I have already put off for too long."

Octavia's smile dipped slightly. "Alright. If you change your mind, however, you'll still be welcome."

He smiled as warmly as he could as he bowed his head again. "Perhaps later, then." He continued for his room, ignoring Vinyl's comments behind him.

He locked the door behind him, taking a moment to collect himself. Out the window he could see the royal palace, fallen to grey with the dusk. In one of its many rooms resided Princess Luna, and he wondered what she was doing, how she'd react to him. He sighed and went to his dresser—he'd already delayed too long. He opened the bottom drawer and withdrew Luna's bracelet. It shimmered the colour of midnight blue and was adorned with a single black gem. He steeled himself a final time and brought the bracelet to his lips. Gently, ever so gently, he blew across the stone.

The next few seconds passed in agonizing stillness, allowing him a moment to start sweating. Then the stone glowed a brilliant azure and the image of Princess Luna appeared towering over him, her wings spread in regal power, her eyes narrow and glaring. He bowed low and prayed.

Autumn emerged from his room, all his fears replaced by a steady calm. Luna had been angry, but that had eventually given way to understanding. His embarrassment, his fear after being seen was, as she had put it, "a trait common in the markless." It was something to be corrected, she had said, and he still expected punishment, but all that would have to wait. For now, he needed a way into the palace, and for that he went back downstairs.

The sound of drunken singing rolled out from the den. Entering, he saw that several empty bottles now decorated the table along with a few dirty plates; the cake was gone. Octavia sat on the couch, a warm smile on her lips. Autumn quietly sat beside her and likewise watched the clearly drunken Vinyl lean on her turntable, trying to maintain key. After a moment, he leaned closer. "I did not know she sang," he whispered.

"She doesn't," Octavia chuckled. "Not unless she's gone three sheets. One of the reasons she only drinks with friends."

There was still another open bottle. He shook his head and put that thought aside. "Octavia... may I ask you something?"

Her smile faltered as she faced him. "Oh..." Her brow furrowed and she shook her head slowly. "I don't know, Fiddler. The Gala's a very exclusive venue; I don't know if—"

"Hey!" Both ponies looked over to Vinyl, who was now glaring at them. "I wazn... wazn finished with m' song."

"It was a lovely song, Vin," Octavia said. "I apologize for getting distracted."

Vinyl's glare didn't let up, but it did shift; Autumn found it locked on him. "Yer back," she accused.

He paused, unsure of what to do. Her glare deepened, and in a panic he took a cue from the mare beside him. "It was... a very good song. I am disappointed you stopped."

For a few seconds, the only sound was of the record as it continued to spin; then Vinyl broke into a grin. "You all right. You wanna drink? I get you a drink." She stumbled out from behind the turntable over to the table and, after going through the empties, offered Autumn a half-full bottle of whiskey. "Have dis one." Hesitantly, he accepted the bottle and cast a questioning glance at Octavia; she simply smiled. "G'wan," Vinyl prompted. "'Sgood."

"A-heh," Vinyl chuckled. "Dun' need one." Her grin widened as she gripped the bottle in her magic and tilted it toward him. "Jus' drink!"

Autumn managed to hold the bottle enough that it didn't spill, but he realized this was a losing battle. This wasn't how he wanted this night to go. Vinyl's one track was aimed right at him and Octavia was certainly not objecting to the lack of glassware, so he gave a mental sigh and took a mouthful.

It was a strong drink, and he coughed as it scratched his throat. "Yaaaaaaaay!" Vinyl exclaimed, throwing her forehooves into the air—the act caused her to lose her balance and she fell onto her side, then rolled to her back and grinned like a minx. "Heh-heh. Toldya i's good." She magically pushed the bottle toward him, making the same gesture with her hoof. "Have 'nother."

Over the next hour, any business that Autumn had come down for was set aside as Fiddler was dragged into the party. Vinyl kept pushing drinks on him, but with Octavia's help he was able to convince Vinyl that he was drinking more than he was—it kept her happy until she passed out in the middle of the floor.

Octavia smiled at her sleeping form. "So energetic, but she sleeps so peacefully."

"After how much she had, I would be surprized if she did not," Fiddler commented; Octavia covered her mouth and chuckled. He smiled—making her laugh was a pleasant feeling, he realized.

"Well, then. Shall we clean up?" she asked. He nodded dumbly, a small part of him making note that he was most certainly drunk. He took solace in the fact that he was still somewhat cognizant, but even so—he hadn't felt this way since Zecora had saved him. Of course, back then it was all pain and numbness, not this warm, fuzzy happiness.

As he helped clean the den, Autumn remembered his mission. He shook his head, fighting through his drunken buzz, and he glanced over to his host. She was swaying only slightly as she straightened the table, placing the empty bottles in a bag. "Octavia..."

"Tavi," he corrected. "I..." He swallowed hard. "I would very much like to go to the Gala with you."

Her smile faded and her ears drooped. "I... don't know, Fiddler. Gala guests get their reservations months—sometimes even years—in advance. I don't think they'd let me bring my own guest last-minute."

She looked away, silent. Finally, "I'm not going as a guest, you know. Even if I could get you in, I'll be on stage most of the night."

"And there's no guarantee you'll get in," she continued. "If you get turned away at the door—"

"Then I can wait for you back here," he said. "Or at Pony Joe's, if that would be preferable."

That made her smile, he saw. She shook her head and faced him again. "All right, we'll try, but don't get your hopes up."

Her smile was bright as she nodded, then she sighed and hefted her bag. "I'm going to take these to the trash; could you please put Vin on the couch? It'll be more comfortable than the floor."

He looked over to the sleeping mare. "I could let her stay in the guest room tonight," he offered.

He paused, noting the slight sway in his step. He'd never been much of a workhorse, and the idea of carrying a full-grown mare upstairs after drinking was enough to make the couch seem a wonderful idea. "I see," he said, and Octavia smiled warmly on her way out. He turned to Vinyl and sighed; there was no way he could do this smoothly. Figures the one with magic would be the one sleeping, he thought.

He walked over and tried to slide a splayed wing under her. He made it halfway when her eyes opened. "Nngh..." she protested. "Don' wanna get up."

"The floor may give you cramps in the morning," he said. "The couch is softer, or I could take you upstairs to the bed."

Vinyl squinted, her mouth opening slightly; Autumn could almost see the gears turning. "Couch 'sfine," she determined. Autumn smiled and helped her to her hooves, supporting her for the three-metre trek. There, she collapsed and rolled herself onto it, settling on her side and staring at Autumn.

She poked him in the chest. "You all right, you know that? You... you all right."

"Ah, you're awake." Octavia entered the room with a smile, trotting up beside the couch.

"Hiiiii, Taviiiii!" Vinyl's forehoof waved in the air in accompaniment to her words. "Tired, though. Go'n sleep now."

"You do that," Octavia said, patting her friend's hoof. "See you in the morning." Vinyl grinned with her eyes closed, and Tavi finished collected the dirty dishes off the table. "Good night, Vin," she said as she left.

Autumn took that as a cue to leave, but Vinyl's hoof shot out and blocked his path. "Hey... hey." Autumn paused, waiting; it took a few seconds for her to continue. "She like you," she said. "Like... like a... a...." She fell silent, slipping back to sleep. Her chest rose, and she gave him a final message before she drifted off. "Don'... don' break her heart, 'r I'll rip yours out..."

What? He stood there a moment, stunned, as Vinyl slept. The accusation—that he could break her heart—baffled him. Octavia was just a friend, helping out because that's what friends do.

Right? His time with Octavia over the past few weeks drifted through his mind. Had she been smiling more lately, taken time to talk to him and left late for her performances, or was it just the alcohol making it seem that way? He shook his head, but couldn't shake away the buzz.

He glanced down at the unicorn, now peacefully oblivious. She drank too much, he told himself. Maybe... maybe she is just seeing things. He tried to believe it as he left her to her sleep.

"She's sleeping well?" Tavi asked when Fiddler walked into the kitchen. She had finished cleaning the dishes and they were sitting on the rack to dry as she wiped her hooves.

He shook his head; the night certainly hadn't been what he'd expected, but he couldn't call it bad. Still, though, Vinyl was quite a character. "You two are so different," he said. "How are you friends?"

"It's alright, Fiddler," she said, chuckling. "Just..." She paused, staring into empty space. "She's... she's a good mare. She's been there for me in the best of times, and the worst." She offered a wry smile. "Most of the ponies I know are duplicitous, eager to both share my success and benefit from my failure. Even Frederic treats me like his daughter, but Vin..." Her eyes misted. "Vin's genuine, always has been. She's crass, rude, shameless, irresponsible, but honest and true. I can't imagine my life without her." She turned and smiled at him. "Kind of like you, really—except, you're less crass."

Fiddler smiled through a drunken haze. "I could try to be, if you would prefer."

That earned another chuckle. "No... no, that's alright," she said playfully. "But thank you for the thought." He simply smiled, and she went over and hugged him. "And thank you for joining us tonight."

It seemed to him that she held him a little tighter before she pulled away, her drunken blush quite evident on her cheeks. "It's... getting late," she said. "Perhaps we should go to bed."

Equestria's Secret Service

by EdwardJ

XIV - The Right Road