The First Light of Dawn

by Cold in Gardez

First published 24th of September, 2011

A terrible accident threatens to unmake the world as we know it.

It is the longest day of the year, and something has gone wrong. Canterlot is in ruins, Celestia is an out-of-control god flying west, and it's up to Twilight Sparkle and her friends to save Equestria. But with the Great and Powerful Trixie playing a reckless wild card, do the girls have what it takes to set things right?

The Pastel Desert

The longest day of the year passed over the scrub and sage of the Pastel Desert in much the same way every other day that year had: quietly.

Millions of years before, when the desert was actually an inland sea, an unusual variety of zooplankton had thrived in its shallow waters, absorbing the light of a younger sun and the rich mineral salts leeched from nearby mountains by rain. The high alkali concentration stunted or killed most life, but the tiny plankton adapted and exploded, untroubled by predators or competition. In time the exotic mineral soup changed the simple creatures, painting them in a riot of colors: iron red, cobalt blue, sulfur yellow, copper green and calcium white, to name just a few.

As they died the plankton sank to the bottom of the shallow sea. Countless trillions of plankton lived and died beneath the waters, until the slow tectonic shift of continental plates thrust the land under the sea upwards thousands of feet. Spurned by the rain and loved overmuch by the sun, the sea eventually evaporated, leaving only the stratified skeletons of the plankton to remind anypony that water had ever existed there at all.

Time blended and faded the sharp colors and sharper rocks, leaving a gently rolling landscape of lavender and peach, umber and rose, charcoal and ivory. Short, hardy bushes dotted the rocks, the only visible sign of life for dozens of miles in any direction.

For centuries the desert remained unchanged, except for a thin ribbon of train tracks laid by industrious earth ponies building networks between their towns as they moved west. Neither the sage bushes nor the desert seemed to mind the railroad, though the rattle of passing trains sometimes sent lizards and rodents scurrying for cover.

Which is exactly what they did when the train came roaring down the tracks. It was fast – the rails had barely started to shake when the iron monster was upon them, and just as quickly it was gone.

The train was short, consisting only of an engine and a single passenger car, all pulled at breakneck speed by a team of conductor ponies. They galloped down the tracks lathered in sweat and panting for breath. They ran as though the dawning night behind them was in pursuit.

The roof of the passenger car had been converted to a makeshift balcony and was in use by a pair of ponies. One, an orange filly with a yellow mane and a cowboy hat that somehow stayed attached despite the whipping winds, was leaning on a rickety looking railing at the front of the car, her forelegs draped over the rail as she watched the landscape ahead. The other, a lavender unicorn filly, stood next to a telescope and tripod that had been crudely nailed to the car’s roof, to keep it from bouncing off the train. Her head was buried in a large book floating in the air without any visible means of support, aside from a faint purple glow just now becoming visible as sun began to fall beneath the mountains to the west.

“We’re comin’ round a corner, Sugar!” the orange pony called over her shoulder. “We should be able to see her again in a sec!” Ahead of them the tracks bent around a massive hill that had once been a true mountain, until time and wind reduced it to its current state.

The unicorn pony turned a page, then another, and then flipped through the rest of the book before slamming it shut with a growl. The strain of the day’s events was clear on her face – circled, tired eyes and a frazzled mane above tightly drawn lips. She levitated the book over to a trapdoor in the roof and let it drop into the car below.

The train took the turn without slowing down. The car rocked and began leaning dangerously, but before it could roll off the tracks they rounded the curve and were back on a straightaway. Ahead of them the sun had almost set – only a tiny piece of the orb remained above the mountains. The world around them darkened as twilight took hold.

But then the train passed all the way around the hill, and sunlight found them again.

To the south, miles away and high above the desert floor, something like a shooting star traced its way across the sky, paralleling the tracks as it headed west. It was nearly as bright as the setting sun, its flickering light illuminating the landscape below like noon. Even from the train it was impossible to look at directly for more than an instant. Twilight Sparkle dared a glance, then quickly turned away, blinking her watering eyes to clear the dazzling afterimage.

“Now that’s powerful bright,” Applejack said. She tipped her hat down to shade her eyes like a sensible filly. “Find anything in them thar’ books?”

“No,” Twilight said glumly. “I don’t even know where to start. I have half my library in this car but it would take a week to read through it all, and even then we could miss something important because we didn’t know it was important!”

The lavender pony rested her forehead on the railing. Over the roar of the train she could barely make out a faint rumble, like an unending thunder, coming from the south.

Applejack sighed. “The conductors are gonna need to stop soon,” she said. “You look like you could use a rest yerself.”

Twilight’s head came up with a jerk. “But we just caught up to her! If we stop now she’ll get away!”

“I know, Sug, but we can’t--” she stopped suddenly, her eyes on the sky to the south. Twilight followed her gaze and gasped.

The shooting star was flickering badly. It nearly vanished several times before popping back to full brightness, but just as quickly it began to falter again. The constant rumble of thunder became a series of staccato booms felt in their chests.

“What’s happening?” Applejack asked quietly, her words barely audible above the din.

Twilight stared at the shooting star. “Of course… it’s the sunset,” she said. “The sunset!”

To the west the last sliver of the sun dipped below the mountains, and the shooting star went out.

“Stop the train!”

“What?” Applejack stared at her in confusion.

“Tell them to stop! I can’t use the scope if we’re bouncing around like this!” Twilight fumbled with the telescope and tripod, trying to orient it to the south. The shooting star was a barely visible spark descending from the evening sky.

The train lurched as Applejack’s message reached the conductor ponies. When it finally settled she peered through the spyglass’s eyepiece, trying to find the glimmering dot against the emerging night.

“I think she’s landing,” Applejack said. The orange pony stood by Twilight’s side, squinting as she tried to find their target. “Try looking lower.”

“Got her,” Twilight said. Through the scope she found a thin black line that slowly resolved into a smoke trail, like the ones left by the Wonderbolts during their performances. As she followed the trail to its head the smoke slowly turned red, then orange, and finally a brilliant yellow surrounding a tiny, incandescent white nucleus streaking toward the earth. With a quick spin of one of the telescope rings the white spot jumped in magnification, filling the entire eyepiece.

It was like staring at the sun again. As her eye slowly adjusted to the brightness she could barely make out a pair of huge, feathered wings, their tips a dull cherry red that seemed nearly black when they passed in front of the alicorn’s body. The air around it was literally on fire, a halo of flames that gave birth to the trail of smoke.

“Oh no… no no no no no,” she mumbled. Applejack turned to her in concern.

“What? What’s wrong, Twi?”

“She’s not landing,” she said in shock. “She’s falling.”

The alicorn tumbled through the air, wings useless, completely out of control. Twilight pulled her eye away from the telescope in time to see the falling star meet the horizon.

“Princess…” she whispered.

The falling alicorn streaked past a low mountain and slammed into a rock outcropping nearly the size of Canterlot Keep. From the train it looked like the world’s largest firework; a shower of brilliant sparks rose into the air like a blossoming flower, soaring high above the mountain itself, followed by a fountain of yellow lava that sprayed upward and out like a severed artery. The outcropping collapsed a moment later, sending boulders the size of houses rolling for miles down the mountainside. The explosion grew in silence for several seconds before a titanic *CLAP* shook the train and raised clouds of dust from the desert floor around them.

Twilight fell back onto her haunches, her ears ringing from the blast. She watched numbly as a rockslide large enough to devour Ponyville slid down the mountain, accompanied by a river of lava that formed a small, burning lake at its foot.

Applejack managed to stay on her hooves, but couldn’t keep from shaking so hard her teeth chattered. From overhead came the whistle of rocks zooming by, followed by faint thuds as they landed. Some of the falling stones were nearly the size of a wagon, Twilight noted absently.

Neither of them moved. As the sun sank further below the horizon the world grew darker, illuminated only by the flickering orange of the burning mountain. Even as night took hold they could still see clearly by the flames.

Finally Twilight stood. Without a word she hopped down the trap door into the car, and then jumped out the back door onto the tracks. Before Applejack could find her voice, the purple unicorn was already trotting toward the mountain.

“Hey… Hey! Wait for me, Sug!” she yelled. “Gosh darned filly,” she added under her breath, then hopped clean over the railing to the desert floor and took off after her friend.

“Slow down, girl! You’re gonna git yerself hurt!”

“I’m fine!” Twilight yelled. She really wasn’t, though; galloping across the desert at night wasn’t the safest or smartest thing to do, and she’d already nearly snapped an ankle on an unseen crevasse. The purple light of her horn wasn’t much help, only lighting the ground a few feet in front of her.

“Just take it easy, it doesn’t matter how fast we git there,” Applejack tried to reassure her.

“She needs our help!”

“You won’t be much help with a broken leg. If she survived that fall she’ll survive the extra minute it takes us to reach ‘er safely.”

The unicorn stumbled and almost fell as Applejack’s words sank it. She spun around to face the other pony, pointing her horn like a weapon.

“How can you say that?!” Tears left wet trails in the dust on her face. “Don’t you care about her?”

Applejack stopped a few feet away. “Of course I do,” she said quietly. “You know I do. I’m just bein’ honest.”

Calm, practical Applejack. Twilight lowered her horn, choking back a sob.

“I’m sure she’s fine,” Applejack said. She placed a hoof on Twilight’s shoulder. “Now come on, let’s do this together.”

Twilight sniffled, and then bobbed her head. Together they turned to the mountain and walked the rest of the way.

The fallen alicorn was waiting in a pool of glowing rock perhaps twenty feet across. By approaching from the higher ground on the side of the mountain they could get within a pony length of reaching her before their hooves began to smoke. Applejack retreated with a startled yelp, and grabbed Twilight’s tail in her mouth to pull her back when she didn’t follow.

“I think we’re gonna have to wait, Sug,” she said. Beside her Twilight ground her teeth in frustration.

“But she needs us now!” Twilight hissed. “Look at her!”

Applejack sighed. “Twi, if she can survive in that, she can survive anythin’. And nothin’ we can do will help her.”

The rock around the alicorn simmered as they watched. Occasionally a large bubble would burst with enough force to spray flecks of lava over her wings and head, the only parts of her body not submerged in the liquid stone. The drops ran like water down her feathers and hide, leaving no mark to signify their passage.

Twilight stomped her hoof in frustration. “Princess!” she called, “It’s your faithful student! Can you hear us?”

The alicorn had no response.

“Princess!”

Near the edge of the lava a boulder cracked with a deafening report, half of it slipping into the pool while the rest tumbled down the hillside, starting small brush fires as it rolled.

“Sug, it’s not—"

“Princess! CELESTIA!”

Applejack rested a hoof on the unicorn’s shoulder. “Twilight, enough. She’s either asleep or—"

Twilight batted the hoof away, interrupting the filly. “Or what?!” she demanded.

“Or unconscious,” Applejack finished calmly. “Either way, yellin’ at her ain’t gonna help.”

The unicorn glowered at her for a moment, then seemed to wilt. She sat back on her haunches, head so low it nearly touched the hot earth, and started to sob.

“I’m s-sorry, AJ,” she said quietly. “I don’t know what to do. Nothing like this has ever happened before.”

Applejack drew her into a tight hug. “It’s okay, we’ll figure somethin’ out.”

Twilight continued to sniffle for a while, until the tears finally ran out. She gave her head an angry shake and stood, stomping the ground again.

“Applejack,” she said. Her voice was as clear and calm as if she were in her library.

“Yeah Sug?”

“How far is Appleloosa?”

The orange filly stood and looked around at the nearest mountains, comparing them to memories of visits to her cousin’s town.

“Hm, maybe 10 miles? Lookin’ for a place to stay?”

She snorted. “No, we need more help. Can you head there with the train and tell them what happened?”

“Sure can. What do ya need us to bring?”

Twilight thought for a moment, then sighed. “I don’t know. Everything I guess.”

“Alright, everything it is. You stayin’ here?”

She nodded, her eyes fixed on the alicorn. She kicked a loose stone into the lava where it sank without a sound.

“Well, alright then. I’ll be back just as soon as I can.”

Applejack started to turn back to the train when she felt a warm nose nuzzle her shoulder. She smiled, and stopped long enough to give the unicorn a tight hug.

“Thanks AJ,” Twilight said. “Sorry about all that.”

“Aw, it’s nothin’ Sug. It’s been a long day.”

After Applejack left it was a long and lonely night, as well.

Trixie was an unhappy pony.

She never would have admitted that, least of all to herself, but her powers of self-delusion were starting to wear a bit thin after being chased from yet another town. Apparently this “Winter Wrap-Up” celebration was not a good time to advertise her magnificent magical skills by offering to use her power to melt the snow.

Or teleport the animals out of their burrows.

Or blast the clouds from the sky.

In retrospect, she hadn’t really “offered” to do those things, in the technical sense of the word. She just did them. It was better to ask for forgiveness than permission, right? That’s how powerful magicians worked.

And was she thanked for her efforts? Did they shower the Great and Powerful Trixie with praise (and bits) for her dazzling display of magical prowess?

No! The ungrateful earth ponies actually booed her! They accused her of ruining the celebration!

Granted, she probably shouldn’t have called them “dirt” ponies, not out loud at least. But that’s what they were – earth, dirt, mud: all the same. They spent their days grubbing in the soil, trying to eke out a living. It was actually very generous of certain talented unicorns – like herself – to stop and try to make their pitiful lives a little more bearable.

They were lucky! Even if they didn’t realize it now, someday they would tell their foals of the time the Great and Powerful Trixie visited their town and blessed them with her magic. They would weep as they recalled how poorly they treated her. “Someday,” they would say to their young, “another magician may deign to visit our pitiful little hovel. Treat her with kindness! Do not repeat our mistakes! Woe! Repent!”

Mud ponies. Dirt ponies.

Anyway, on the open road again. This really was the best life for a pony like her: travelling the world, helping the less fortunate. If it happened to cement her reputation as the greatest magician in all of Equestria, well, she could hardly be held responsible for the hysterical adoration she caused in everypony who met her.

The Great and Powerful Trixie was happy, she decided. There was nothing she wanted to do more right now than walk down this very road, to whatever fortunate town awaited her arrival.

She was a little hungry, maybe, on account of not eating for a few days. But she was happy.

Her legs were a bit sore, from galloping to escape the angry herd in that town whose name she hadn’t bothered to learn. But she was happy.

She was a tad cold, what with all the snow, and her lack of winter clothing.

And her wagon. Mustn’t forget the wagon, lost those many months ago.

Or her books, lost with the wagon, that she had spent so many nights pouring over.

Or her beloved hat and cape, purchased with the first bits she earned from performing on street corners in Canterlot, now gone as well.

She stopped and stomped her hoof. These were not happy thoughts. They were not helping.

She was happy. Happy. The Great and Powerful Trixie had never been happier than she was on that snowy road, stung by a knifing winter wind, in the deepening gloom of twilight.

“The Great and Powerful Trixie,” she announced to no one in particular, “is delighted to be here. Delighted!”

She didn’t need a stage to perform – the world was her stage! She reared up on her back legs, hooves spread wide, imagining the next cheering crowd before her.

“Come one, come all!” she called. “Come and witness the amazing magic of the Great and Powerful Trixie!” A wave of her hoof filled the sky with blue and silver fireworks, their thunderous claps shaking the snow from the branches around her and sending animals fleeing in terror for miles around.

“Watch in awe as the Great and Powerful Trixie performs the most spectacular feats of magic ever witnessed by pony eyes!” She pranced in a circle and the ground beneath her lurched into the air, lifting her up on an earthen pedestal as high as the treetops. A magical spotlight popped into existence, lighting her like a star.

“Behold, as she commands the powers of the arcane!”

She thrust a hoof toward a dark, snow-covered field, her horn glowing with a brilliant silver light. The snow roiled and shook, moving about as though being shaped by an invisible sculptor. It piled higher and higher, quickly taking the form of a massive, white dragon that shambled toward her, puffs of snow and frost falling from its joints with each creaking step. Icy claws grasped her pedestal as it towered over her, its wings blotting out the sky.

And then it bent low, and laid its head at her feet.

She twirled to face a stand of trees. “Gasp, as nature itself worships her!” Beads of sweat collected on her hide despite the freezing cold, and began to trickle in streams down her body. Clenching her teeth, she stared at the trees, her horn flaring like a torch.

Silver sparks appeared around the trees and they began to lean, as though being pressed down by a great weight. Slowly at first, then with greater speed, they bent until their bare crowns touched the ground, bowing to her.

“Quake before her majesty!” she shouted, her showpony’s voice quavering with strain. Wide, shaking eyes stared at the road as her magic filled it with illusions. Dozens, hundreds of ponies cheered for her, stomping their hooves, calling out her name. Flights of spectral pegasi soared in formation overhead, paying tribute to her greatness. Waves of fireworks lit the sky like day.

“Love her! LOVE TRIXIE!” she screamed at the illusions, flecks of froth flying from her lips. The trees began to crack under the strain of her magic, their trunks snapping like twigs. The snow dragon lifted its head and rocked back as she fell to her knees. It flailed at the air, as though fighting an unseen enemy, then slowly disintegrated, forming piles of snow and ice that would take weeks to melt.

The earthen pedestal began to lean slightly, then suddenly slumped, giving up the fight against gravity. It sank into an irregular mound, depositing the shivering, crying pony on the icy road. Around her the illusions flickered and went out.

“Love me…” she whispered, and wondered, not for the first time, where it had all gone wrong.

Eventually the cold and wind forced her to her feet. Unable to go back, she went forward.

Hours later the road came to an intersection. Some helpful pony had put up a sign to guide travelers, which she glumly surveyed. Most of the names she didn’t recognize. One, she did.

Canterlot. How long had it been since she started there? Years, at least. She could barely remember the rough streets, the early, clumsy performances.

Going back there would be like admitting defeat. Admitting that the wide, open world was too much for her.

On the other hand, all artists occasionally needed a break. She had done well enough at Canterlot as a filly; imagine what she could accomplish as a powerful magician!

She could make a new name for herself there; she could recover from the past few months. New allies would bankroll her performances. She could be the newest star in Equestria’s greatest city.

Yes, Canterlot. She practiced saying the word, and found she liked it.

Head higher, a bounce in her step, she started down the road to Celestia’s city.

She felt happier already.

The Celestial City

The purple foal had never been more excited in her young life. She bounced in place, trying to see over the heads of the taller ponies in the crowd around her, until finally her father picked her up and placed her on his back.

Ahead of them, at the front of the Solarium, Canterlot’s largest plaza, hundreds of craftsponies had spent the night constructing a special stage, behind which the first light of dawn was beginning to rise in the East. Now there were thousands of ponies crowded into every open space as far as she could see, filling the air with the sound of hooves on marble, the faint hum of conversation, and the rustle of pegasus wings overhead.

The babble of the crowd suddenly grew louder, and faint cheers broke out near the front. Trumpets sounded as a giant white pegasus with a unicorn horn walked onto the stage. The figure towered over the guards and other ponies, making them look like foals beside her.

“I can see her!” she squeaked into her father’s ear, her forelegs wrapped around his neck for balance.

He whickered quietly, amused. “Keep watching, Sparky. It hasn’t started yet.”

On the stage the alicorn princess spent a moment watching the mountains. Then, as the newborn sun’s rays broke over the horizon, she leapt, her massive wings lofting her into the air. With a final beat she hovered in front of a golden crescent sculpture that very nearly matched the mark on her flank, and the full light of the sun behind her washed over the plaza. The longest day of the year had begun.

Every year since, for as long as she lived in Canterlot, Twilight Sparkle never missed the Summer Sun celebration.

Canterlot hadn’t changed much since Trixie’s last visit. No surprise there; the city was a reflection of its ruler, a millennia-old alicorn princess. Celestia had long ago decided she was happy with the state of Canterlot, and that was good enough for most ponies. If you didn’t like it, well, there was a wide open world you were free to explore.

In truth, there was much to love about Canterlot. Every street was a work of art – carefully laid cobblestones, soft on the hooves, led to wide intersections decorated with fountains and statues. Ornate lampposts pleased the eye during the day, and lit the way at night. Graceful bridges stretched across placid streams, and everywhere there was green. Trees, grass, flowers, gardens; the whole city sometimes seemed more like an elaborate park than a place where ponies actually lived and worked.

Above it all, perched on the side of a mile-high mountain, was Canterlot Keep. Celestia’s castle, the capital of Equestria; a dream wrought from marble and rainbows.

And home to ponies with more money than sense. Trixie’s favorite kind of pony.

The Great and Powerful Trixie moved through the crowds like a fish through water. As she walked she remembered the rhythms of the city, the steps of the artful dodger she had once been. She watched the ponies around her with a practiced eye, gauging the flow of traffic and the open spaces where crowds might form.

Eventually she came to one of Canterlot’s famous plazas, a broad courtyard of pink granite flagstones and sparkling fountains. Ponies relaxed beneath trees and on wrought-iron benches, enjoying one of the first beautiful days of spring. The central fountain was nearly fifty paces across and ringed by a broad marble bench. Families sat on the edge of the fountain, watching their foals splash about in the water.

When she still had her wagon, Trixie had preferred to give set performances, using her grandest spells and tricks in more-or-less the same routine. But before she owned her own stage she had been a master improviser, able to turn any situation extraordinary by her mere presence.

And now it was time to improvise. She hopped up onto the fountain’s edge, spells and routines tumbling through her head. She wanted something impressive but not ostentatious. Canterlot was a poor place for boasting – the city itself was the greatest star, and difficult to compete with.

The key is not to do the impossible, she thought, part of the mantra she always recited before performing. Her horn glowed as she cast the first of many spells. It is to do the impossible, and make it look easy.

She took a step, and walked out onto the water as though it were solid earth. Eyes closed, she paused with her head tilted up and her mane tossed behind her shoulder in an arrogant silver wave.

Her performer’s instinct told her to wait. Wait until the hum of conversation died down as ponies noticed her. Wait until she heard hoofsteps drawing closer. Wait until the crowd began to chatter again.

Water-walking was a difficult skill. Most unicorns, if they bothered to learn it, could only take a few steps before sinking. A magician unicorn might be able to stand on water indefinitely, if they were careful. But she was no mere magician.

The Great and Powerful Trixie began to dance.

She started slowly, cantering in a circle with her eyes still closed, legs crossing as she pirouetted about the water. An excited babble started in the crowd, and a few ponies stomped their hooves in appreciation.

The sounds of approval were like nectar, like delicious wine. She hopped forward three times, then leapt high into the air, hooves extended, before landing perfectly on her forelegs. Someone in the crowd cheered.

The key is not to do the impossible. She darted forward, her hooves skating across the water like ice. She crouched and then jumped again, spinning in the air to land backwards, still gliding over the water in a wide circle that brought her to a slow stop near the crowd.

It is to do the impossible, and make it look easy. Exhaling, she raised a single hoof, and her horn glowed as the performance truly began.

The water in front of her roiled, as though being stirred by an invisible hoof. Faster and faster it spun, until out of the whirl a blob of water the size of a pony appeared, rising to the surface before her. The amorphous form slowly attenuated and drew tighter, assuming a shape as it shrank. She heard shouts from the crowd as she focused her magic, wielding it like a knife.

The crowd was utterly silent when her spell finished. Before them on the water stood two unicorns – one of flesh and blood, the other sculpted entirely from liquid water. Its mane was gently flowing mist, its horn like an icicle, all atop a gracefully arching neck and imperiously tilted head.

If she had stopped there it still would have been a magnificent show, certainly more than anypony ever expected outside a performance hall. But she was the Great and Powerful Trixie; magnificent was just a starting point for her.

She turned her hoof upward, holding it out to the water sculpture. With a fluid grace it raised its leg, gently clasped her hoof with its own, and together they resumed the dance.

The crowd went insane.

Hundreds of ponies had jammed the open space around the fountain. Some, toward the edges, had even climbed into the water to get a closer look. Soon the crowd itself became part of the attraction, as ponies wandering by stopped to see what the cheering was for.

She spun elegantly across the waves, each hoof placed with a precision and grace that would have been at home in Canterlot’s finest balls. The water sculpture mirrored her movements, sometimes close enough to touch, other times far enough away that they seemed to be dancing separately.

The noise around her was deafening. Ponies shouted, cheered and stomped their hooves. She could barely hear herself think.

It was wonderful.

After a few final orbits she came to a stop just feet from the front of the crowd, the water unicorn by her side. With a casual gesture of her hoof she dismissed the magic binding it, and it collapsed back into the pool without a trace. She reared back on her hind feet, hooves spread wide, head tossed back in abandon, as though ready to embrace every pony in the crowd. The cheering somehow grew louder.

She stood that way for a long while, drinking their adoration like a flower drinking sunlight. Small splashes sounded around her, and she realized they were tossing bits into the fountain.

Not a bad start. Not bad at all.

Twilight Sparkle was having a good day, and she hadn’t even gotten out of bed yet.

She had set her alarm extra early the night before. Part of her hadn’t wanted to go to bed at all, and just stay up bouncing around the library in excitement, but that was foalish and she was no longer a foal. She was a sensible mare who knew the importance of getting a good night’s sleep.

So she went to bed. Reluctantly.

Finally the alarm went off. It didn’t wake her – she’d been awake and staring at it for more than twenty minutes, silently willing it to move faster.

She was up and out of the bed so fast she might as well have teleported. The covers hadn’t even landed back on the bed and she was already out of the room, trotting down the stairs to the Library proper.

“Spike! Spiiiike! Wake up Spike!”

There was a muffled crash from upstairs, followed by a thrashing sound, like someone was having a fight with their pillow.

“Get up Spike!” she called again.

“Wha… what? Twilight?” He poked his head over the loft where he slept, eyes bleary with sleep.

“Good morning, sleepy head!”

“Twilight, it’s… the sun’s not even up, Twilight.”

“I know! Do you want some breakfast? I think there’s some jade left.”

The tiny dragon wandered into the kitchen, rubbing his bleary eyes. “What’s got you so excited?” he asked, and wandered over to the pantry to start pulling ingredients for breakfast before Twilight could try to do so herself. He had learned to head that disaster off at the pass.

She hopped in place. “Do you remember last month when Celestia invited us to attend the Summer Sun Celebration in Canterlot?”

He nodded. He remembered most of the messages he coughed up as part of their correspondence.

“Well, she said I could bring as many of my friends as I wanted!”

He poured some water into a kettle and breathed on it, quickly heating it to a boil with his flames. He waited for her to continue, but she simply stared at him with the eager smile she used when she wanted people to ask her stuff.

He sighed. “Okay, so why is this morning important?”

She clapped her hooves together. “The Formal Events Etiquette Manual says that you should wait until 60 days before an event before inviting your friends, if they will be attending as your guests.”

He disguised rolling his eyes by turning to grab a bag of dried oats. He measured some into a bowl and poured the steaming water into it, giving the whole mixture a stir with his claw before putting it on the table for her.

“Let me guess. Today is 60 days before the – hey, don’t eat that yet! Let it sit for a minute.”

Twilight looked up from the oatmeal she had been about to stick her muzzle into, chagrined. She hated waiting for her breakfast.

“So, ah, yes, today is 60 days before the Celebration, which means I can start asking people to come!” She paused, then added, “Would you like to come, Spike?”

“You know, just because a book says something doesn’t mean…” he trailed off as she narrowed her eyes. He coughed and continued, “Count me out. The last time I attended that thing, Nightmare Moon tried to take over the world.”

She took a tentative bite of the oatmeal, and then blew on the bowl, trying to cool it off a bit faster. “I guarantee you that won’t happen this year, Spike,” she said, before trying another bite.

“I’m sure you’ll find some other disaster, Twilight.”

“Gee, thanks.” At least the oatmeal was good.

The sun was just barely over the horizon as she made it out the door, filling the misty air with a gentle golden glow. She hopped once to settle her saddlebags, then levitated a scroll out of one of her pockets, stretching it open in front of her. On it was the checklist she had prepared last night – mostly errands, but also the names of the six friends she hoped would accompany her. One, Spike’s, had been sadly crossed out.

Checklists were one of Twilight Sparkle’s guilty pleasures. Anything and everything that could be organized into a checklist, was. Checklists turned the chaos of life into neat, ordered rows to be individually ticked off as they were accomplished. For a bookworm who found pony relations sometimes confusing, they were a source of comfort. She couldn’t help but feel smug when using them; more organized and logical than other, non-checklist-using ponies. Sometimes, when no one was watching, she would draw empty boxes with no associated tasks and check them off, just for fun.

She had arranged her friends in the order they were likely to wake up, so she could visit them more efficiently. Applejack, probably already out tending apple trees, was at the top. Rainbow Dash, who wouldn’t leave her cloud before noon, was solidly at the bottom, below the other ponies, shopping and lunch.

Sweet Apple Acres was already in full swing when Twilight arrived. Earth ponies were out in the orchards, pruning branches, planting new trees and making repairs to the irrigation system. Applejack, as Twilight expected, was directing work at the barn with her brother.

The orange earth pony trotted out to meet her, calling out a cheerful greeting. “Howdy Sugar! What brings you ‘round here?”

Twilight gave her a friendly nuzzle. “Good morning AJ,” she said, and then stood back a step and cleared her throat.

“As you may know,” she started her rehearsed invitation, “Princess Celestia will be holding the annual Summer Sun Celebration in Canterlot in two months. She has graciously decided to invite me and anypony of my choosing to attend as her special guests in the Palace seating section. I would be honored if you would agree to accompany me to this event.”

“Aw, Sug, I’d love to,” she answered. “But it won’t be like the Gala, will it?”

There was an uncomfortable silence as they both relived the catastrophe that had been the Grand Galloping Gala.

“Er, no,” Twilight finally said. “This will be much less formal. Almost everypony in Canterlot will be there, not just the aristocracy.”

Applejack stomped a hoof in approval. “Well, count me in then. Who else is coming?”

Twilight brought out her checklist and ticked off the box next to Applejack’s name, enjoying a secret thrill as she did. “Just us so far. I’m sure the rest of the girls will too, though.”

“…graciously decided to invite me and anypony of my choosing to attend as her special guests in the Palace seating section. I would be honored if you would agree to accompany me to this event.”

Pinkie Pie gasped and clapped her hooves over her mouth as Twilight finished, her eyes wide as saucers.

“Twilight Sparkle, are you asking me to be your DATE?!”

“What? No, Pinkie, as my guest.”

“Well it soooouuunds like you’re looking for a date, silly filly,” Pinkie replied, bouncing in a merry circle around the bemused unicorn.

Twilight turned, trying to track the hyperactive pony. “Don’t be ridiculous. Applejack is coming too, and she didn’t call this a--” she didn’t get to finish her sentence.

“Applejack too?! Oooooohhhh, it’s that kind of date,” she said slyly, giving Twilight a giant stage wink.

Twilight resisted the urge to smack herself in the forehe ad. “It’s not a… oh, nevermind. Can you come?”

“Of course I can!” Pinkie hopped in place, her hooves fluttering wildly. Suddenly she froze in mid-hop, a puzzled look on her face.

“Wait, what day did you say it was?” the pink pony asked.

“The… Summer Sun Celebration? It’s the day of the Summer Sun Celebration, of course.”

Pinkie tilted her head to the side slightly, her hoof rubbing her chin as she thought.

“Hmm…. I thought there was another party that day,” she said.

“Somepony’s birthday?”

Pinkie shook her head, chewing her lip as she thought. “Nope, no birthdays.”

“A wedding?”

Pinkie giggled. “Silly Twilight, I’d never forget a wedding! They’re the BEST parties!”

Twilight sighed. “Well, what was it, then?”

Pinkie knocked her hoof against her head, as though trying to jar the memory loose. “It was some kind of celebration, I think,” she said. “OOH! It had to do with the sun!”

Twilight closed her eyes and rubbed her temples with her hooves.

“Was it the Summer Sun Celebration, Pinkie?”

Pinkie shrieked and wrapped her forelegs around the unicorn in a bone-crushing hug. “THAT’S IT! Twilight, you’re a GENIUS!”

Twilight couldn’t breathe. This is how diamonds are formed, she thought. Finally the pink pony released her, and the grey tunnel receded from her vision.

“So, can you come?” she asked a bit weakly.

“Oh, I’m so sorry Twilight.” She really did look sorry; the world itself seemed to lose some of its color as she pouted. “But there’s a party here to celebrate the Summer Sun Celebration. If I go with you, who will run the party?”

Part of Twilight wanted to tell Pinkie to forget the party, that it wasn’t important. Fortunately, the part of Twilight that didn’t want to be buried in a shallow grave in the Everfree forest won out.

“Oh, it’s alright Pinkie,” she said, and gave her friend a nuzzle. “We’ll be fine without you, and I’m sure it will be a great party.”

Pinkie beamed at her, and the color came back into the world.

***

Three hours later, Twilight Sparkle was feeling a bit grumpy. She munched on a daisy flower and grass sandwich outside the Hayseed Café and reviewed the checklist resting in front of her.

Applejack’s name had a satisfying check mark next to it, but so far her other friends had been less receptive to her invitation.

Pinkie Pie’s parties obviously took precedence. The town was relying on her to organize the celebration, and knowing Pinkie it would probably rival the festivities in Canterlot.

Rarity had said she would “rather die” than see Prince Blueblood again. Twilight thought that was a bit overdramatic, even for Rarity, but the girls had never gotten the full story from her of what happened on the night of the Gala.

Fluttershy had sounded happy about coming, until Twilight started talking about how exciting the crowds were, and how thousands of ponies would see them up on stage with the princess. It had taken her an hour to talk the shivering pegasus out from under the table.

That just left Rainbow Dash, who should be waking up soon. Twilight finished her sandwich, left a precisely calculated tip, and cantered off to find the blue pegasus pony.

It was a short search. One of the treetop-high clouds near the edge of town had a garish, multi-hued tail hanging over its edge. She trotted as close as she could, and started yelling.

“Daaaaash! Wake up!”

The tail gave a flick and vanished on top of the cloud. Twilight rolled her eyes.

“I know you’re up there, Dash! Come down!”

No response.

“I have important news regarding an upcoming event!” she teased.

Still nothing. She scowled.

“Don’t make me come up there!”

She heard what sounded like a cross between a snort and a giggle come from the cloud.

“Some ponies…” she muttered to herself. Well, fine. She could play that game too. She spun together the cloud-walking spell she had learned for their visit to Cloudsdale, her hooves glowing a light purple for a moment as the magic sank in. She tapped her hooves together to make sure the spell was firmly set, then turned to look up at the cloud, closing her eyes and imagining herself standing atop it.

Her horn flashed, and when she opened her eyes she was on top of what felt like fluffy cotton, next to a startled blue pegasus.

Dash yelped and rolled away, nearly tumbling off the cloud before flapping her wings frantically to recover. She settled back onto the cloud with a dour look for the giggling unicorn.

“You know, Twilight, the reason pegasus ponies can stand on clouds is so we can’t be bothered while we’re sleeping.”

“Good morning to you, too!” She glanced up at the sun. “Or should I say, good afternoon?”

Dash grumbled something just below Twilight’s hearing range. Her mane looked like a bird’s nest that had survived a paint factory explosion.

“So what’s so important that you had to interrupt my nap?” Dash fluffed the cloud with her hooves and then flopped onto her belly.

“As you may know, Princess Celestia will be holding the annual Summer Sun Celebration in Canterlot in two months. She has graciously decided to invite me—"

“Boring!”

Twilight frowned, but pressed on. “Ahem. She has graciously decided to invite me and anypony of my choosing to attend as her special guests—"

“Still bored!”

Twilight scowled. “Rainbow Dash, we are being offered a chance to attend an important historic event of immense cultural significance. You should be excited about this opportunity!”

“Uh huh.” Dash rolled onto her side, facing away from the unicorn. “Ask Scootaloo – she loves important historic events of boring significance.”

“Really?” Twilight perked up. “I didn’t know she was so culturally inclined. Maybe this will have something to do with her cutie…” she trailed off as she noticed Dash snickering.

She decided to attack from another angle. “You know, I hear the Wonderbolts will be attending,” she said casually. A blue ear swiveled around to face her.

“They’ll be giving one of their biggest performances of the year,” she continued. “They’ve been working on new routines all winter, I’m told. I’m sure it will be ‘awesome’.”

Dash rolled onto her back, staring up at the higher clouds with feigned nonchalance. “Go on,” she said.

“I bet they’ll even stop to speak with all the guests in the VIP section.” She paused, then struck. “You know, where we’ll be sitting.”

Dash sigh and rose to her hooves. “Fine, fine. But it better be awesome!”

Twilight hopped with a delighted squeal and smothered the pegasus with a hug. “Oh, thank you Dash!”

“Hey, watch the mane!”

Twilight was so happy she forgot to mark her checklist.

The Treasures of the Night

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.