The heavy gaze of the intrigued masses was a thousand times better than that single, potent stare of realisation from the princess.

Without the instinct to move and escape Princess Twilight’s presence gnawing on his nerves he was relaxed. When Princess Twilight looked to him, before she smiled, after she said his name with a trace of familiarity it choked him with dread. He understood. It was akin to finding an old photograph in the attic, heavily dusted and obscured. A sweep of the hand of explanation, which seemed to belong the writer of that letter, Prince Blueblood, and then it clicked as to where she’d heard that name before.

And his face, the few times she saw it.

So she gave him her pity… and then that blasted smile.

He huffed, absentmindedly shaking his head as he tried to forget that look. All the more reason to keep up his appearance, he decided. He switched his train of thought to a new track: his current objective. After all, he did have a job to do.

He could handle a day like this like a walk through the park, or market square if one were to be literal. It was a short detour from his original path, seeing as this slightly uphill street ran parallel to the one before. Aged shops leant in, the hanging signs gently moving like beckoning hands. The stone was old here, from bricks that laid the streets to the slanting buildings that weren’t birthed of timber and thatch. Never the less, though this market was worn it was still lively as ever.

A day like this brought little discomfort, what with the sight of boisterous bartering and tricky trades occurring on stall counters. Not so many eyes fell onto him when ponies were pre-occupied and the world lived so he could watch it instead. He kept an eye out for apple stalls, apple wares, and apples barrels, but couldn't help but be drawn to flora not native to the area.

There were fruits and flowers of all kinds, some he knew of from towns far west and east of the land: Exador’s Bane, a potential sleeping agent if consumed en masse; Balzazar Crest, a crescent shaped fruit of polka dot colouration; Withered Claws were a surprising find, the blackened root had a paralytic side affect on touch-- excellent for pain relief ointment when properly handled. Then there was the humble variety: cherry tomatoes, cucumbers and oranges and the like. The apples came into view further down the path.

The stall was recently repaired. The wood of the banner was lighter than that of the worn stand. These were Sweet Apple Acre apples if the name written was true, and though the immense variety on offer may elude to that, he figured the disappointed little filly behind the stall could verify.

She didn’t see him approach. She would beam pleasantly towards a passer-by only to be shot down by some unheard excuse. She seemed sweet enough, unless she was actually as sour as her faded lemon fur coat. A cute pink bow rested upon her red blossom mane, her eyes would alight with childish enthusiasm, before she rested her chin on her hand with a disheartened look—honestly, what was wrong with these passing ponies?

“Not a single bit since Applejack left to make deliveries…” She certainly held a strong farmer cadence, completing the pouting package he supposed. Behind her he could spot a pyramid of barrels. He was a few steps away before she took a double take at his sight.

Vincent didn’t stare fully back, rather he looked to the stand as her eyes widened and ears flicked up. He learnt it made ponies severely uncomfortable otherwise. Years brought experience and rewarded tricks, after all. She was perhaps an inch or so shorter than Spike. When she took a small step back he spoke.

“Hello, Little Miss.” His friendly timbre did have a little effect of partially removing her uncertain stare. With a tilt of the head he continued, “I’d like to buy an apple.” That earned the desired effect: she smiled.

“Howdy Mister! I gotta say, you can’t just ask for an apple!” she started with zeal, quickly taking on serious facade as she pointed to a few open barrels by her side. “We got dozens to pick from! From Golden Delicious to Grand Delicious! Red Delicious to Roam Delicious!” she finished gesturing to the barrels on her other side. “Deliciousness guaranteed.” They certainly lived up to the surname, the scent was almost beckoning hunger calls from the pit of his stomach.

“Uh… the… green one.” An apple was an apple as far as he was aware, as were oranges were orange. Things considered common flora or fruit were not his specialty. Still, he maintained that pleasant placating tone. “Please.” Rather than have her identify which species, he simply pointed to a middle barrel of three that were filled with emerald fruit.

With a nod she whipped out an apple with her tail before plucking it by the hand and setting it on the table. For a moment he looked between her and the fruit, his gaze lingering on the latter rather than her wide smile. Perhaps it was her potentially unhygienic use of her tail that put many customers off? Regardless, he wasn’t here to actually eat the fruit.

“That’ll be one bit please!”

Vincent’s hand slipped under his coat, sliding along the pockets on his belt. The contents jingled as he shifted, two corked vials popping out into view. His gloved hand disappeared around his back as he spoke.

“Say, are these really from Sweet Apple Acres? I’m new to the village.” His casual inquiry sparked something in the young mare, her chest puffing out and a proud look sprouting on her features.

“Absolutely. Freshly picked this mornin’ and each apple cared and nurtured for by my family who runs the farm.” He planted two bits gently onto the table- one for the apple and the other for a better day- the act causing her brows to bunch in confusion.

“Your family?” Vincent continued before she could speak up, his hand already around the apple. “Must be hard work for you all.” He was wary of his voice, sticking to a pleasant tone. She took her pay and bonus, looking up to him with glee as he put the apple in an outside pocket.

“You bet! Me, my big sister, and my older brother do most of the work. Big Macintosh, my brother, does most of the really hard chores, my sister, Applejack, does the rest.” Vincent spotted her wilting ears and downcast expression easily enough, despite the brevity in its existence. “I… sorta help out where I can, mostly with Granny Smith, my granny, in the house.” She smiled back up to him, notably weaker than previous ones, as she took only one bit, pushing the other back.

“Um, you gave me a little extra, Mister.”

“I know,” he replied with warm amusement as he moved the coin back with one finger. “It’s yours.”

She chuckled before pushing the coin back quickly.

“Nah, it wouldn’t be right for me to take this for nothin’.”

“Little Miss, I insist you keep the change,” Vincent retorted zipping to coin quickly back across the stand surface. She flicked it back.

“No need to make change, besides I didn’t earn it and an Apple earns their bits.” The finality in her statement was reinforced by the crossing of her arms and the turning of her back. Spirited little thing.

‘Strange to see a little one with such a strong integrity.’ He thought whilst folding his own arms, shifting his weight to one side and waiting for her to turn back around. She glanced over her shoulder but only saw his tilted mask. Quickly she looked away from him.

“Apple Bloom, you got a customer to serve.” The interruption came from the corner close by. Her voice was older and bore the same country flare as the little merchant before him.

The Stetson wearing earth pony looked as worn as the hat on her head; athletic, toned, and robust, the mare would qualify as prime specimen of her breed. Fairly attractive, despite the disarrayed straw-blonde ponytail. A piqued brow claimed her features, which were soft enough to draw a pang of recognition when he looked back to ‘Apple Bloom’. She was strong, it showed in her walk and form; the mare was definitely one at home with hard work where muscles could become taught.

“Erm, I was giving him back his change but he wouldn’t take it!” Apple Bloom was quick to point out. Vincent chuckle rumbled as he shook his head, his amusement not lost in his response, now directed to the newcomer.

“It appears the Little Miss here doesn’t know how to take a tip,” he commented with a gesture. Though the pastel orange newcomer looked relieved and smiled, Apple Bloom did not.

“I know what a tip is!” she responded sharply with cute indignation, “And I know I have to do something to earn it!”

“Like being nice and talking to the customer?” he offered, hoping she’d take the bait. She did.

“Yeah… oh.” By now the mare was standing by her side, shifting her weight to one leg and grinning down to the little one. “I still didn’t think I did anythin’ special.” Apple Bloom’s statement was not directed up to him.

“For some that’s all that it takes, Sugar-cube,” the mare responded, ruffling the mane of the little one. She smiled. “That’s why it’s important to always be polite and sincere to yer customers, ya hear?” Her sagely wisdom was met with an understanding nod.

‘If she’s who I believe she is then she is who I need to speak to.’

“Howdy, the name’s Applejack,” the mare stated with a reluctant offer of her hand and a practiced polite smile, “pleasure to meetcha, mister…”

The offer was trap and his hand was snared by a python grip that shook a memory around his skull with the vigour of a babe with a rattle.

“Miss Applejack… name rings a bell, probably a young madam of the Apple clan. The ponies, though fairly common, yield exquisite crops year after year. A farmer’s lineage would do that: waste perfect ingredients in their abysmal cooking skills. Ugh, that snack of hers still haunts my royal taste buds years on. I wonder if the Element of Honesty would own up to such a fact.”

Another Element of Harmony then?

“Ser Vincent.” Fortunately, his gentle voice hid his discomfort as well as the mask hid his grimace at how strong the grip of this mare was. He’d wager she could crush gems in one hand. He saw her ear twitch beneath her hat as his hand slithered out of her grasp, retreating safely to his side as his other hand whipped out the Princes’ scroll. “Of the Solaris Knights, and I believe we may have business.”

He noticed the trio of red apples pictured on her hip, the stillness of her tail drawing his attention back up to spot her blinking eyes.

“A knight?” Clarity claimed her expression as she unfurled the scroll, lowering the brim of her hat to block out the sun. “That’s one fancy smancy signature,” she muttered before looking up to him. “Yeah, we brought ‘em back to the farm like Twi wanted—if yer wanna know where we got them in the first place, then they were kind of stacked up near Fluttershy’s place.” With an uneasy scratch of the head, her unfocused, almost scared stare falling to the side, she added, “Not too far in the… Everfree Forest.”

He was worried. Though he was capable of making others comfortable, or the very least curious, with him being heavily garbed and masked (not an easy thing to learn as the past taught him), he was concerned that she was starting to get uncomfortable with his presence. Not too uncommon, even after validating his knighthood, but a problem all the same. A good enough reason as any to not linger in another’s company for too long.

“Are you okay?” His concern shook her out of it, a sheepish grin emerging on her muzzle. It greatly helped pronounce her freckles.

“Yeah, er, sorry.” A quick and awkward rub of the back of the neck and then she continued, “The forest outside of town gives everyone the willies.” Before he could inquire she took on a look of unnease, biting her lip, flexing the digits of her free hand and swishing her tail.

“About where these crates are now…” she trailed off, offering a nervous chuckle. She could tell the gradual tilt of his head was because she couldn’t see his raised eyebrow. Applejack returned the official document back to him. “See, we stored them in the barn, but between when Twi sent the letter and when you got here, um, Ser Knight, we had to move them.”

“Oh?” He drawled with heavy curiosity and his head still askew. His annoyance was perhaps symptoms of the slowly growing state of fatigue, kept at bay by the thought of progressing through an easy retrieval mission. The dam had a crack and sleep would seep in, but not for a while.

“You see, they were safe in the barn but then…” Applejack’s face shifted to point a fierce, sisterly stare towards Apple Bloom. Though must would assume otherwise, his field of vision was rather fine, peripheral vision only slightly cut off. It was with this that he spotted an uncannily sheepish grin sprouting on Apple Bloom, mirroring her sister's own.

His blank stare shifted, cold and emotionless as it bore towards the child. It was all she could see and her ears wilted as she felt a sense of impending judgement strike her heart. Retribution from a calculated study. She knew what a knight was, everypony knew what a knight was. Heroes, beating up bad guys and helping out folk, large and small! They were big to fight monsters, which he was, strong enough to tackle storms, which he looked, and friendly enough to charm worms out of apples! Which he sounded -- had been -- but…

That mask. Lightly cracked. The scorched gloves that sometimes flexed oddly, the burnt armour beneath a bitten coat. Now that she believed she was in trouble she really didn’t like the look of it all.

Of course, Vincent hardly held anything against kids. In fact he was simply waiting placidly on an explanation. He had a soft spot, most knights did.

“This one and her pals thought they would take a peak, wound up nearly lancing Big Mac with a spear.” Applejack crossed her arms over her chest, ending with a sigh. “Caught him putting on a helmet later.”

“Is that so?” Vincent replied coolly, arms folding behind his back. “I trust everything was returned to their rightful place?” he turned his head to face the older sister, Apple Bloom releasing a breath she didn’t know she held.

“You bet. In the end, we wound up moving them all to the town hall.” Applejack finished.

“Is that far?” He turned away, glancing past onlookers looking back. He hadn’t planned a route from the market to town hall, only looking up street names and a set path from the train station to the library to the farm.

“No.”

“Well then I’ll be off,” Vincent started, before facing Apple Bloom once more. He knelt, closer to the stand and coming to eye level. Not that she could see his. He then regained that warm voice, yet, it always seemed as if he’d never lost it. “But I think an apology from the young offender would settle the matter.” That perked Apple Bloom up, confusing her even. Without hesitation, she responded with guilt sprinkled into her tone.

“I’m sorry that me and my friends opened up those crates Mister Vincent, we just wanted to know what was inside and then kind of got carried away,” she admitted, rubbing her arm. He raised his primary finger on the clean, gloved hand.

“Ser Vincent.” He correct, holding the finger in the air close to the mask.

“Sorry Mister Ser Vincent.” She heard a soft rumble come from beneath the mask, it’s sideways swaying indicating he found something funny. As did Applejack judging from her snort.

“Apology accepted, Miss Apple Bloom.” He punctuated his reply by bringing his finger down hard on the stall, and when she peered down, she found it had pinned the extra bit to the surface. “Now then,” he said with a smile in his voice, “Take this and treat yourself when you can, and remember, curiosity killed the cat. You could have got into a lot of trouble."

He slid the bit across before rising up, glancing back as he departed to spot her smiling broadly at the bit.

“Bye! Thanks for yer service!” she called and waved. He lifted a hand and waved back, looking to the front to spot Applejack walking beside him.

“Reckon somepony who doesn’t know how far town hall is ain’t from around here nor has a clue how to get there.” She said simply, flicking her hat back up to smile gratuitously to him. “That was a mighty fine thing yer did, Sugar-cube. See, Apple Bloom has some trouble selling, tries too hard, but needs to learn to ease up. She’ll get there, an Apple doesn’t fall far from the tree after all.”

“Nice to see sibling bonds are as strong as ever wherever I go.” Vincent replied, earning an arched brow. “Only child, you see. Sometimes I’m jealous.”

“It ain’t easy.”

“Thank you for being my guide by the way, I thought you were going to be busy helping Apple Bloom or making more deliveries. Sorry to take up your time.” His apology was met with a scoff and a hand wave.

“Anytime, she can handle the stall for a few more minutes and I’m done with my rounds. It’s the least I can do.” She then made the obvious motion of studying him, as if she had only just realised he was heavily garbed. The gesture was in good humour, of course. “And I thought knights wore big, bulking armour that shone like platinum; you’re pretty far in the opposite direction if you don’t mind me saying, just thinking about the Canterlot Guards is all.”

Vincent shrugged, intentionally making his scale-plated armour shudder audibly. It was true, actually, that Solaris Knights did get a flashy set of armour. Even he still had his set. Some found alternatives that fit them better was all. So long as the right papers were signed and a knight had proper authorisation, then command had no qualms.

“Didn’t thinks masks were a part of the uniform either.”

“I get that a lot.”