“Gah.”

As a prefatory address, that left much to be desired. But for the life of her that was all that Trixie could manage at the moment. Her line-of-sight was passing right over Princess Twilight Sparkle's head, her wide, rounded eyes locking onto the other two princesses present.

Twilight's introductions were, of course, formally correct for the occasion, in addition to being polite and courteous.

Dear sweet Celest—her!!

For the purpose of identification, however, the introductions were entirely unnecessary.

Trixie Lulamoon had seen the Sun Princess numerous times as a student at her School For Gifted Unicorns, for Princess Celestia not only held formal, quarterly assemblies for her students, but visited the school on a daily basis. And she'd actually met Her Highness, too; several times, in fact —although something about those personal, private visits had her mentally shying away from accurately recalling them, especially those last few times; so much so that it was physically unsettling to even try making those memories become sharper or clearer— so it would have been impossible to have mistaken her for anypony else.

And as for her sister . . .

Trixie had never met Princess Luna before. In fact, at the time she'd dropped out of the School For Gifted Unicorns she, like virtually all of Equestria, hadn't even been aware of Her Highness' very existence! But, exactly as it had been for her elder sister, there was no possible way of mistaking that second alicorn for anypony else other than The Princess of The Moon!

For both of them it wasn't even the fact that they were alicorns (which quite hoofily, all on its own, had narrowed down the list of possibilities to being just those two). No, it was simply the sheer, blazing sense of presence that both of them radiated, a sensation so strong that, to Trixie, it was physically perceived. Add to that the fact that Princess Luna carried about her an aura of darkness —one that was of the night, and not of maleficence . . . although Trixie was quite aware, now, that that hadn't always been so— as she stood there, her mane and tail gently shifting in a nonexistent breeze, as stars twinkled in their shimmering depths.

Full-blown panic threatened to consume her on the spot as she was suddenly faced with the two most powerful, paramount figures in all of Equestria. She started mentally gibbering, her mind and thoughts unraveling, shredding like weather-worn canvas in a strong gale. Twilight's expression became alarmed, seeing her friend starting to disintegrate, when . . .

A sense of calm serenity descended over Trixie, as years of brutal, relentless training and inculcation came to the fore and enveloped her. Her expression eased, a small yet warm smile spread across her face as she daintily descended from the wagon porch to the ground, once there sinking into an elegant curtsy that would be the envy of even the stuffiest of the Canterlot courtier elite. “Good morrow, and warm welcome, Your Highnesses,” she greeted, her voice taking on a cadence and tone that was entirely unlike anything Twilight was familiar with. “Please, be welcome to my home, modest abode that it be. May Your humble servant be of service today? Perhaps some refreshment? A hot beverage perhaps, to warm you this chill morn?”

“And a warm welcome to you, as well,” Princess Celestia replied, her expression sincerely gracious. “Thank you, but—”

“Coffee,” Princess Luna interrupted her elder sister.

Trixie's gaze shifted towards the Moon Princess.

“Pray thee good mare,” Luna continued, struggling to contain a yawn. “Of your kindness, a cup of coffee would not go remiss. We would gladly give up cake for a month for a cup of coffee.”

Celestia cocked a regal brow and sternly stared at her younger sibling. “That had better be the Royal “We” you're using there, Luna.”

“Now, now 'Tia,” Luna gravely replied, “Surely seeing to the comfort and well being of your sister is worth the sacrifice of a few cakes?” She then dropped her eyes, patently staring at Celestia's flanks. “It is not as if you could not do with a few less of them, after all.”

Celestia imperiously sniffed, refusing to rise to the jibe. “A cup of tea would be nice,” she admitted. “If that isn't too much trouble?”

“Not at all!” she smoothly fibbed. “It would be Trixie's honor and pleasure,” which was more truthful. She was trying to resolve the dichotomy between the regal majesty that she'd always pictured Their Royal Highnesses projecting, versus the gentle, familial teasing they were bantering back and forth between them . . . and permitting Trixie to, simply by being there, share with them.

“Twilight?” Once she had her attention Trixie asked, “Would you mind giving Trixie a hoof, please?”

“Not at all! If you'll excuse me?” she asked the diarchs, whom simply nodded in acquiescence.

“Twilight? Would you, please, close the door behind you?” Trixie asked as she followed her inside the wagon. No sooner had she closed it behind her, then . . .

Trixie whirled about, her eyes snapping and blazing with a fury so intense Twilight recoiled. “How could you do this to Trixie?” she hissed.

She had intended to say more —a lot more— but she jerked to a halt at Twilight's expression, for she looked absolutely miserable, contrite and apologetic. That was enough to give Trixie pause; it certainly wasn't enough to stop her, and Trixie still meant to give her a very large, acerbic piece of her mind, but before she could open her mouth Twilight had opened hers.

“Trixie, I'm sorry! It's all my fault! I panicked when they showed up! I wasn't thinking!”

Trixie snorted, glaring at Twilight, whose ears were pathetically flagged and whose posture was utterly remorseful. She wasn't at all mollified, oh no, not by any means! But she had to whip up coffee and tea for Their Highnesses, and it wasn't as if she had anything special to serve them! Trixie couldn't afford special. So that meant . . .

Drawers and cabinets opened and closed with startling rapidity. “Put those coffee beans in that grinder,” she ordered Twilight and, yes, it was an order. At the moment it didn't matter to Trixie that Twilight was also a Princess. All that mattered was that she was the pony responsible for this embarrassing mess! “Grind it until you get a fine powder. Mind you, no more than a cup of whole beans!” she warned.

While Twilight started grinding the beans, Trixie started working on the tea. Placing at least two teapots-full of leaves —just in case a refill was required— inside a selected canister Trixie intently concentrated, first on the leaves and then the container itself. A few moments later and a light pink glow surrounded the jar, as well as danced and coruscated along her horn.

Twilight's senses prickled at that, for there was something unusual she was perceiving. She couldn't put her hoof on it, and now wasn't the time to go off on any exploratory tangents.

Thankfully Trixie had just performed these very spells not two days ago, so repeating them was easier with that prior “rehearsal” . . . although easier wasn't at all the same as easy. But within a minute she had the tea leaves she wanted inside a canister that again resembled exquisite lead cut crystal.

“I went home yesterday after our brunch,” Twilight continued, once she knew she wouldn't be interrupting Trixie's casting concentration. “And, well . . .,” Trixie didn't need to be looking at her, she could hear the blush in Twilight's voice. “I spent most of the afternoon, and evening . . . and early night,” and again she sensed that blush, “researching Primary Elementals. I wrote down all my notes, and added what we'd talked about yesterday,” she explained, carefully grinding the last of the beans. “I also mentioned I felt it was important that we look into this. And I sealed the scroll and marked it as urgent, so that Princess Celestia would make sure to read it in the morning and not later. I didn't mark it emergency, or anything high priority. Just urgent.

“But I forgot, and goofed.”

“'Goofed'?” Trixie repeated, focusing now on the teapot, and the two teacups with their matching saucers. Again her horn and the pieces glowed, and this time Twilight tried following the path Trixie's magics took. It was intensely frustrating, for she could sense the changes as they occurred, but she couldn't perceive exactly how they were happening!

The one thing Twilight couldn't mistake was the intensity of Trixie's power. It gave her the oddest feeling of standing in front of a massive kiln as the door was opened, as if she was sensing just the merest glimpse of that fiery heat that roiled and raged inside. It wasn't the strongest she'd ever sensed, true, but it was still a very strong one nonetheless.

“Goofed, yeah,” she admitted, mortified. “I sent the scroll after nightfall. So it didn't get delivered to Princess Celestia. It got sent to Princess Luna, instead.” Tapping the grinder she made sure to get all the ground coffee powder into the small cup. “So she read it last night, and thought it was important enough to wake up Celestia to talk about it. And first thing this morning, right after they lowered the moon and raised the sun, they dropped in on me right in the middle of breakfast.”

“I'm really sorry Trixie,” Twilight was apologizing so abjectly that Trixie was finding it hard to remain angry with her. “But I was sort of flustered. I wasn't expecting any sort of response until this afternoon. And, even then, I'd only been expecting some sort of written response. And, well . . . they were really sort of, umm, not impatient, mind you. Not exactly insistent, either. But . . .” she trailed off.

“Trixie,” she said, much softer. “Don't panic. OK?”

“'Don't panic'?” Trixie repeated, her voice a low —and, yes, panicked— hiss. “Don't panic? You do know who just “dropped unexpectedly in”, don't you?”

Twilight stepped up and gently rested a hoof on Trixie's withers. “Trust me, I do know. I also know something else, too.”

“And what is that?” Trixie somewhat snippily asked, turning her attention now to the creamer pitcher and a third teacup and saucer, both of which were going to require something significantly more complex than illusionary magic for her purposes.

There was an odd note of sorrow in her tone. “I know how tired they both are of ponies treading on eggshells around them all the time, worried about saying, or doing, something that would “offend their Royal Dignities”. And how tired they are of the constant hovering around them.” Her voice took on a smooth, obsequious tone. “'Would Her Highness like another cushion?', 'Does Her Highness want more pepper on Her salad?', 'Would Her Highness want Her shawl before She takes Her walk in the garden?', 'Perhaps Her Highness would care to look at this proposal more closely?'.”

Trixie's head whipped around at the bitterness she was hearing in her voice. “I have to deal with that now, too,” she said, her eyes swimming for a moment before she blinked that away. “I have no idea how Celestia —and now Luna— stand it. So, yes, please,” her voice took on a pleading tone as she gazed into Trixie's eyes, “Don't panic. Be respectful, yes, but try to remember that behind their positions, their titles and duties, they, too, are just ponies.”

She wanted to snort at that. “Just ponies”, indeed! That was rather like saying the Sun was just a small campfire! Then again . . .

“Trix—Trixie will try,” she haltingly said, and was surprised when Twilight's face lit up, and then hugged her. She was still quite miffed, but was, oddly enough, finding it hard to remain angry with her.

She started concentrating on the creamer pitcher, teacup and saucer, when an impish little thought popped into her head. “Are you ticklish?”

The question came so out-of-the-blue that Twilight honestly answered a question she'd always ever before ducked and dodged. “Why yes, I am. Very.” Her voice abruptly grew suspicious and guarded. “Why?”

Closing her eyes Trixie answered before focusing on the items before her. “Something for Trixie to remember when it's her turn.”

Trixie carefully descended the stairs, serving tray hovering just above her croup, making sure it remained level even as her body angled down the steps. Her face momentarily heated as she turned and faced the small table and single chair there. Had she had even fifteen minutes warning . . .

Gliding, then settling, the tray to the middle of the table with meticulous care she discreetly swallowed before turning a smile upon her regal —and most unexpected— guests. “Trixie does most humbly apologize for the lack of seating,” she began, only to have Princess Celestia graciously lift up a hoof.

“There is no need to apologize, Trixie,” she said, her voice and tone holding a sensation of familiarity that should have relaxed her but, instead, made something deep inside her coil even tighter. “In fact, it is we,” she indicated her younger sister and then herself with another elegant motion of her hoof, “who should apologize, for giving you so little —well, none at all, to be honest— warning of our visit.”

Princess Luna nodded at that, but it was obvious that fully half, if not more, of her attention was to the oddly-shaped pot and cup that Trixie was positioning before her. Celestia noticed her sister's rapt focus, and lifted a hoof to her lips to cover a smile. Alas, said hoof did nothing at all to conceal the twinkle in her eyes as she returned her gaze to Trixie. “I think my sister is a bit, ah . . . eager.”

Luna actually blushed for a moment, a sheepish expression fleeting across her face. “Verily, it does smell very good,” she admitted, “but that doesn't excuse my boorishness. Pray, forgive me?”

“There is nothing to forgive, Your Highness,” Trixie replied, her voice smooth as silk, her deportment worthy of the most elite. Twilight struggled to keep her jaw closed, for seeing Trixie act this way was completely new, and utterly foreign.

Luna kept watching as Trixie continued with the preparations. The Diarchs were a bit surprised at the service itself, for there was only the two pots, plus three cups and saucers, and the elegant lead crystal tea container. There was no cream, no sugar, no teaspoons, no lemon . . . in fact, someponies might even have considered the service quite meager and lacking. However . . .

The pot, cup and saucer set before Princess Luna was quite unlike anything she'd seen before. They were made of porcelain, coloured and glazed in swirling patterns of deep, rich earth tones. The cup was oddly shaped: it resembled a standard coffee cup, except one that had been elongated upwards while being narrowed in circumference, until it was four times as tall as it was wide. The pot looked about the same, in that it was taller and thinner than a standard teapot . . . which was in and of itself odd, as this was supposed to be a coffee service. The spout looked odd as well, straight instead of curved, and slanted upwards at a moderate angle, and instead of extending from near the base of the vessel, instead it exited the container about halfway up its side.

Lifting up the pot Trixie carefully tipped it, slowly filling the cup with the decanting fluid and, as she did . . . Luna's eyes widened, her ears flicking forwards and perking as the incredible aroma wafted upwards. The beverage looked incredibly dark, and looked . . . thick. Not molasses thick, no, but Twilight could see the difference in turbulent flow as the fluid left the spout and poured downwards. It looked . . . smoother, somehow; which definitely meant thicker.

Stopping once the cup was three-quarters full Trixie set the pot back down before gazing at Luna, a soft lift to her lips as she did. Luna didn't wait for more than a moment before lifting the cup up level to, and just before, her muzzle. She delicately inhaled, and a light shiver visibly rippled her skin. Closing her eyes she gingerly sipped . . .

“Oh dear Faust! Sweet Mother of all ponies great and small!”

Luna's tone sounded reverential, as well as resembled in no small fashion that of a young, virginal mare who had just been brought to rapturous climax by the fabled Don Roam.

Another, much more intense, shiver rippled down her skin, her flanks especially quivering. For a second time Celestia covered her mouth with a hoof to conceal her smile, a quite doting and indulgent one as she gazed at her younger, beloved sister.

Luna cradled the cup between both forehooves, having no real need to do so save for the comfort of that gesture. Taking a second sip she again breathily exhaled, a sound more akin to a moan than any mere sigh.

“I hope Your Highness likes it?” Trixie asked, as she shifted over to serving Princess Celestia now.

One hoof rose in an Imperious gesture. “Please. Just let me . . . revel.” One blueish-green orb peeked out past a slitted lid, the twinkle that danced out lightening the otherwise possibly-misunderstood tone of her voice.

Twilight recognized the teapot, cup and saucer pattern sitting before Celestia, as it was exactly the same style as the one Trixie had used for brunch. It seemed as if Celestia was familiar with that pattern and style, too, as she'd reacted upon seeing them. It was such a subtle, minuscule response that Twilight was certain Trixie had missed it, but Twilight had lived for a very long with Celestia, and was exceptionally familiar with her, to the point that perhaps only her sister knew her better.

Luna was still swooning over her coffee as Trixie filled Celestia's cup. Setting the teapot down she gently gestured to the now-filled cup, watching through thick, lowered lashes as her Highness lifted up the cup and took her own cautious, delicate sip.

“Oh my goodness!”

Celestia's breathy sigh sounded very much like that same virginal mare, only this time basking in the flushed warmth of an Afterlife of afterglows.

She took another sip, a radiant expression of delight and indulgent delectation lighting up her face. “This . . . this is Zhaneeling, isn't it?” she asked as she took another sip.

Trixie's soft smile increased the tiniest amount as she nodded, moving this time to fill Twilight's cup. “Yes, Your Highness, it is.”

Twilight was startled seeing a flash of . . . sorrow? . . . that flickered across Celestia's face immediately following her recognition of the tea. Her eyes darted back and forth between her mentor and her newest friend, puzzled at the undercurrent of feeling she was detecting between the two.

It wasn't just her imagination, she realized, for although Trixie was looking as calm and composed as any socialite she was familiar with, there was, nevertheless, a sensation of strain in her eyes and expression, something that Twilight simply couldn't resolve or figure out.

Trixie finished pouring a cup for Twilight before setting the pot back down. Her eyes kept flickering away from Celestia, mostly seeking out Twilight although occasionally that of Princess Luna. She couldn't for the life of her figure out what was so unsettling about Princess Celestia. Granted, she was the preeminent ruler of Equestria although, since Princess Luna's return, they now jointly shared that duty and responsibility in equality. But, unlike the Moon Princess, this wasn't the first time that Trixie had been in the presence of Princess Celestia. And between the two, Princess Luna had the more formidable demeanor . . . and that wasn't even taking into account her fearsome —and terrifying— past!

But for some reason she was feeling more comfortable with Princess Luna than she was with her elder sister. Trixie kept finding herself shying away from Princess Celestia, and she didn't know why. Worse, when she pried away at that niggling sensation it felt as if she was disturbing much more disquieting ones that lurked deep inside; ones that didn't wish to be disturbed and roused.

“This is really very good!” Luna enthused, drawing Trixie out of that deeply troubling retrospection. “I don't think I've ever had anything like this before.”

“It's a very special blend, Your Highness,” Trixie explained, a pleased smile on her face. And again, as Twilight had previously noted, that wasn't a gloating, scored-points expression, but instead was merely happy. “It's also prepared in its own unique fashion.” Since she still looked intrigued Trixie continued.

“The beans themselves are grown on only one mountainside in all of Equestria,” which had all three Princesses' attention. “Well, the entire world, I suppose, would be more accurate. And that's located in Saddle Arabia. Usually they are reserved, much as Zhaneeling is,” she motioned to the teapot, “to those of Royal lineage . . . or exceptionally favored guests or personages.” And, once more, instead of that coming across as gloating —which, as Twilight was aware, would be not only reasonably understandable in this situation, but, as well, expected from any of the Equestrian elite, who would spare no pains to subtly underscore their status and station— Trixie was simply providing information to satisfy her guests' curiosity.

Twilight wished some of her other friends —Rarity came instantly to mind, as did Rainbow Dash and, to a lesser degree, Applejack— could be here to see and hear this, for they would be astonished at the change in Trixie.

Although Twilight was beginning to feel a bit uneasy about that change, for it wasn't at all superficial, whatever it might appear with just a casual appraisal. This was a major, and fundamental, change in Trixie, and Twilight still couldn't shake off the feeling that the Alicorn Amulet had left behind some sort of residual, malefic damage.

Trixie continued explaining how the coffee was prepared: how the beans were roasted; how they needed to be freshly ground to a very fine powder; that those fresh grounds were actually added to the pot and remained inside; that the water was never heated to a boil, for that would ruin the flavor; that sugar could be added, but, if it was, it needed to be added along with the coffee grounds, and not after being served into the demitasse cups.

Luna was listening with rapt attention as she took several, small sips, savoring the thick, black brew instead of chugging her first mug as she was often wont to do. Trixie had just finished her explanation when she suddenly looked acutely uncomfortable, her head shying away for a moment. “Trixie . . . Trixie didn't actually have the beans . . . or tea,” she added, head lowering further, almost hunching. “She . . . she used glamers on them,” she finished, sounding miserable.

“Certes?” Luna said, sounding surprised . . . and impressed, which shocked Trixie to no end.

She peeked over at the Princess of The Night and nodded. “Trixie knows what they both look like and taste like; she remembers their aroma and flavors, so she could replicate those. But . . . they aren't real,” she sadly added.

Since Trixie was looking at Luna as she confessed, both of them missed the astonished expressions on the other two. Twilight and Celestia were staring at each other, eyes wide. “Trixie?” Celestia started, waiting until she had the unicorn's attention. “You cast the spells on the coffee beans, and the tea leaves, correct?” she asked, carefully stressing those two words.

“Yes, Your Highness. And I'm sorry.”

It was with a massive effort of willpower that neither Celestia's nor Twilight's jaws dropped open like Pinkie Pie's upon seeing a stranger moving into Ponyville. “Sorry?” Celestia managed to get out past her astonishment. “Sorry for what?”

“For deceiving Your Highnesses; for not being honest up front that I was serving you cheap illusionistic fakes.”

Now she had even Luna's attention, who was looking askance at Trixie's unnecessary abasement.

Celestia took a sip of tea as she marshaled her thoughts, very aware of Twilight's subtle hoofwave of “Please don't push her on this,” although she wasn't entirely aware of just which particular “this” her former student was intimating with that gesture. For, unlike her, Celestia knew far more about her other former —albeit not as a personal protégé as Twilight had been— student than Twilight did.

“I would be careful, Trixie Lulamoon,” Luna finally replied, after several, uncomfortable seconds had passed in silence. Trixie's head popped up at the stern tone, eyes wide with alarm. That expression quickly changed as Luna continued, “The rumours of my keeping baristas locked away in a deep, dark dungeon for my own personal use are only slightly exaggerated.”

A little giggle spurted from Trixie, and Luna's face creased with a smile, quite pleased at being able to cheer her up from whatever funk she'd descended into, and all the more so since she had the (completely inaccurate) reputation of being only dour, stern, and grim.

While Trixie's attention was focused on her younger sister, Celestia glanced at Twilight and mouthed the words 'beans' and 'tea leaves'. Twilight nodded, immediately understanding what she meant. 'Later?' she mouthed back, and Celestia nodded.

Twilight was mentally kicking herself for having failed to notice last time what Celestia had this time: Trixie hadn't cast her illusion spells on the already-brewed coffee or tea, altering their taste, appearance, texture and the like through glamers. She'd cast that on the beans and tea leaves, and then had brewed the beverages. But . . .

But that wasn't how illusions in general, or glamers in particular, worked!

Twilight felt like a flywheel spinning far in excess of its design specifications: poised on the edge, ready to explode into a thousand pieces, each one rocketing off at blinding speeds. There was no way that Trixie should be accomplishing what she so obviously had successfully executed. That wasn't just pushing a boundary, or even expanding one . . . this was exceeding beyond that. Twilight was literally squirming, visibly fidgeting as she stood there, about ready to burst at the seams, already mentally calculating, figuring, graphing and charting, planning out experiments . . .

She almost gagged as she took an overly-deep swallow of tea, gulping it before choking off a cough. Regaining composure in the face of research, of new knowledge, had never been her strong suit, so it was a substantial struggle doing so now. But they were here this morning for a purpose —which, by the way, was also intensely appealing and alluring, as it was potentially opening new frontiers— so . . .

“Trixie?” Once she had her friend's attention, “Their Highnesses are here to meet your friend,” she began. Both alicorns gravely nodded at that. “They, as I do, feel that, if it is true what I do believe is truth, there then has been a grievous misunderstanding concerning Primary Elementals, and one that should be immediately corrected.”

Again both alicorns solemnly nodded, and then Princess Celestia spoke.

“Equestria was founded based upon several principles,” she began. “Primarily those of peace, harmony and friendship. These were not to be extended solely to the three pony tribes, but to any creature that sought to peacefully, and peaceably, live within Our domain. Nor were those principles to serve and benefit only Our citizens, of whatever tribe, race or culture, but were to be extended to any other who wished to interact with Us, whether that be by trade, free passage, marriage, or anything else.

“This has not always resulted in peaceable exchanges or interactions,” she explained, nobly refraining from mentioning any specific race or culture like, oh, say, the Gryphonic Empire. “But although We have responded with force when force has been used against Us, We have never initiated such against another. We do not force, or impel, or coerce. We do not enslave.” and her voice was hammered iron, her eyes seeming to blaze with that blacksmith's ringing forge.

Luna's eyes were no less fiery in their resolve and, in fact, blazed hotter than her elder sister's, regardless that Celestia was the Sun Princess. For it was because of Celestia that Luna's —in actuality, Nightmare Moon's— created race, the thestrals, had not just survived that hideous night of chaos and destruction, but had actually thrived; had prospered and flourished as a free race.

Granted, that was still a somewhat rocky road, with many ponies being fearful about thestrals —admittedly, there was some good reasons for that fear . . . if somepony wanted to dwell on actions a thousand years old, that is. But, while Celestia may not have been able to completely eradicate that prejudice and bigotry she had most definitely made the Crown's opinion about thestrals perfectly crystal clear.

“So,” she continued, “if what Princess Twilight Sparkle believes is true —that the Primary Elementals are not simply ponypomorphic ponyfications of one of the Primary Elements but are, instead, intelligent, sapient and sentient creatures in their own right— then We, and Our subjects, have been violating the very principles upon which Equestria was founded. That said violation was conducted in ignorance makes it no less vile, acceptable or forgivable.”

Celestia gazed at Trixie. “We did not wish to wait even an hour longer regarding this matter for, if it is true,” and her tone was in no way intimating she believed it was otherwise, “then the acts, and actions, of Summoning and Binding of the Primary Elementals become hideous distortions and travesties of those core values and principles which with We, in Equestria, embrace, and they need correcting without delay.”

It might not have had the volume of the traditional Royal Canterlot Voice, but that was the only particular Celestia's pronouncement lacked. Trixie felt herself hunching up again, feeling small and out of place, especially when she seemed to be the focus of attention now of all three Princesses!

“Trixie—,” she started, then furiously blushed hearing her voice crack. Swallowing, then quickly swiping her lips with the tip of her tongue, she tried again. “Trixie does not understand what you wish of her.”

“We'd like to speak with your friend,” Twilight explained, her voice soft, low and soothing, seeing how badly fretting Trixie was and wishing to comfort her.

Her stomach headed somewhere south of her hooves. “But Twilight!” she blurted. “Trixie doesn't summon him you know! It's not like she just claps her hooves together,” and, suiting action to words, sharply rapped her forehooves together three times as she reared up and balanced, “and he—”

*poomfh*

Behind her she heard a sound suspiciously similar to that of a gas burner being ignited. She weakly gazed at the three alicorns who were currently looking wide-eyed over her shoulder in the general direction of her campfire ring.

“—appears,” she feebly finished.

She really didn't need to look back over her shoulder to verify her suspicion, but she looked that direction anyway.

“Ah . . . Hi,” she said to the pair of bright eyes merrily gleaming at her from the now-brightly burning campfire . . . that hadn't been used in the last four weeks.

“Please excuse Trixie,” she said to her guests before turning about and pacing over to the fire, and the salamander within. Lowering herself down until she was resting atop folded legs she softly smiled at her visitor. “Thank you for coming,” she courteously said. “That means a lot to Trixie.”

The salamander, his figure vague within the dancing flames, smiled at her.

“There are some ponies that would like to meet you,” she declared. “Trixie promises you'll be safe,” she assured. She waited until she sensed, somehow, his caution relaxing, before rising back up, and then extending a hoof towards the flickering, dancing flames.

Behind her she heard twin, shocked —and no little fearful— gasps as the salamander daintily stepped onto her hoof. She heard those a second time when she realized how difficult walking three-legged would be . . . so she simply lifted up her hoof towards her horn, and waited until the salamander carefully perched on the tip before turning about and facing her guests, two of which had perfectly understandable expressions of acute shock, anxiety and dread.

Once back at the table Trixie motioned for the Diarchs to position themselves at the longer side of the table as she, herself, stood at the opposite, acting as if for all the world it was perfectly normal to be standing there with a Primary Fire Elemental brightly blazing on her horn.

Lowering her head she rested her horntip on the table, waiting until the salamander delicately stepped off and onto the table before lifting her head back up. Her attention fully focused on the salamander —whose heat could be felt yet wasn't even scorching the tablecloth— Trixie introduced him to everyone. “These are our Diarchs, Princess Celestia, and Princess Luna,” indicating each one as she mentioned them. “You already have met Princess Twilight.”

Gazing up at the Royal Sisters she apologized. “Trixie doesn't know his name,” she admitted, shamefaced. “She isn't sure they even have names. Truthfully, she doesn't really know all that much about him, or his kind.”

There was no mistaking how uneasy the salamander was feeling. Nor was there any mistaking how he kept looking at Trixie for reassurance. “Be at peace,” Celestia murmured. “We promise you, by all We hold dear and true, that We mean you no harm.”

The salamander closely looked at her, then at Luna, who was nodding in agreement alongside her sister. His flamed-outlined body shifted, the colors altering from a blue-tinged whiteness to a gentler orangey-red.

“This is truly amazing,” Celestia said. “It's obvious from what Twilight said that you never summoned him, so however did you meet him to begin with?”

“Oh!” Twilight blurted. “Didn't I mention that in my notes? Trixie had been doing fireworks and that attracted him.”

“Fireworks?” Luna's head shot up, her ears swiveled forwards. “You do fireworks!?” she excitedly asked Trixie.

Taken completely by surprise Trixie nodded. “Y-y-yes, Your Highness. Trixie does. Well, did, anyway,” she said much softer, her head abruptly sagging.

Twilight suddenly felt as if she were standing perched in the middle of a taut highwire stretched across an immensely deep chasm . . . before she had wings . . . precariously balanced between two choices.

And ones she needed to decide between right then, for any delay would render both of them void.

“She's very good at fireworks, Your Highness,” Twilight unequivocally stated, making that decision. “In fact, she's the best I've ever seen.”

Trixie's jaw dropped; she shot a horrified look at Twilight. How could she do this to me?

“I adore fireworks!” Luna breathlessly enthused, gazing at Trixie in wide-eyed wonder. “I have not seen really good fireworks since, well . . .,” she suddenly looked down and away, an inestimable look of sorrow and loss on her face. Her ears flagged back, as did her tail; in fact, her entire posture was one of wretched lamentation. And a quick glance over at her elder sister showed a nearly identical expression.

Trixie felt as if her barrel had been bucked hard. She must mean she hasn't seen fireworks since . . . she mentally swallowed . . . since her banishment. Since before being Nightmare Moon.

Sweet Celestia, she thought, not even seeing the irony in that expression. What must that be like? she wondered. Trying to adjust to a thousand year absence, let alone the reason for that absence? How many things constantly remind her of that? How many things have passed away into the dustbin of time, never to be recalled, that, to her, was just yesterday?

She glanced over at Twilight, and wasn't at all surprised to see tears, like shimmering crystal, glittering unshed in her eyes as she was gazing at Luna.

I can't undo a thousand years of pain and sorrow, she realized, but there is something I can do.

“Your Highness,” Trixie softly said, “It would be The Great and Powerful Trixie's pleasure, and rare privilege, to hold a firework's exhibition for your honor.” Twilight's head jerked around so fast that Trixie was surprised her neck didn't snap. Her insides were jittering and shuddering so badly she was feeling sick inside. What did I just agree to do? What was I thinking?I don't perform anymore!

Luna's face lit up with an incredulous joy. “Certes? Ah, I mean, verily . . . umm, truly? I . . . I would love that a great deal!”

Twilight's expression was no less dazzling, but Trixie had the oddest sense that that expression was one borne more of pride and approval rather than simple expectant joy.

Between the two, her insides calmed down quite a bit. The anxiety didn't completely go away, true, but it did ease.

At least, until . . .

“The Running of The Leaves Festival is this weekend,” Twilight excitedly gushed. “We could hold the fireworks that night, out in the Castle foregrounds!”

Luna's face lit up, and she suddenly looked like an ecstatic filly rather than the stern co-monarch legend and gossip made her out to be. Which didn't stop Trixie from thinking . . .

I am sooo going to kill you, Twilight Sparkle!

The chair had been removed, and the four of them stood about the table, one at each end. Trixie was going to absent herself from the proceedings, but all three Princesses would not hear of that, and, so, Trixie found herself in quite exalted company indeed.

Before they got started Trixie did return the service tray and associated items back inside the wagon, clearing the table of everything extraneous. However, one wistful, longing look from Luna at the departing coffee did have Trixie make one spontaneous change: the recently-relocated chair was now serving as a small side table, supporting the coffeepot, mug, and saucer for the Moon Princess.

Dead center of the table was the salamander, who was relaxed enough now to be gazing about with lively, curious interest.

“He doesn't, exactly, talk to Trixie,” Trixie was explaining. “Although he seems to understand Trixie just fine when she talks to him. Trixie just . . . empties her mind and he . . . well . . . it's as if he puts feelings, mostly, but sometimes words, too, into her mind. And when she talks to him, she tries and think the pictures and feelings behind the words as she speaks those words to him.”

The salamander wasn't the only being around the table more relaxed now than they had been at the start. Even though the Diarchs absolutely trusted their fellow princess, it had still been difficult to remain serene and composed in the presence of an unbound Primary Elemental, especially a salamander! But, as had Twilight herself, they had felt the chiding reproach coming from him at their fears and, also as it had done for Twilight, that admonition had done much to ease their fears and concerns, for that wasn't mindless slavering of a raging beast but, instead, had been the measured response of a thinking, rational creature.

“He is nothing like I've ever experienced before,” Celestia admitted, as she, too, faced the same unsettling epiphany as had Twilight just the day before. “How could we have been so blind?” she harshly barked, self-loathing and disgust thick in her voice. That was so intense that even the salamander winced before pacing over to stop immediately before her. Celestia, startled at that, glanced down at the flickering, living flame before her. Her eyes slowly widened over the next few seconds, hearing something the others could not, before she whispered, “Thank you.”

As the salamander padded back to mid-table Celestia looked back up, then carefully met each of the others' eyes. “I think we are all in agreement that, based upon our little friend here, there has been a grievous error made regarding Primary Elementals?”

The other three nodded, Trixie still feeling more than a bit out of her depth at her opinions and thoughts being held of equal value and weight as Princesses Celestia, Luna, and Twilight.

“As of this moment,” and Celestia's voice took on the intonation of unarguable command, “the Summoning and Binding of Primary Elementals is illegal and banned, with the additional Anathematization of Binding itself.”

Luna nodded, radiating that same Regal determination from every pore of her being.

“We probably should start with the curriculum at your School for Gifted Unicorns,” Twilight brought up.

Celestia nodded. “I'll need to draft up new regulations and have them broadcast throughout the realm as well. One way or another, though,” she firmly concluded, “this stops now.”

“I do wish there was some way to pass the news along to their side,” Luna said, adding when the others —salamander included— looked at her, “For several reasons. One is that, while it would be inexcusable, knowing what we now do know, to utilize their powers under coercion, it is undeniable that Primary Elementals have always been extremely advantageous under certain circumstances. It would be beneficial if, instead of forcing their obedience, we could, instead, request their cooperation and assistance.”

The three of them nodded; the salamander . . . just watched.

“Secondly, and of even more import . . . one cannot seek forgiveness if one cannot ask for that. One cannot build a bridge if one cannot even find the other side.”

Celestia nodded. “And it's not just Salamanders, either,” she stated. “It's Undines, Sylphs and Gnomes, too. It's all four Primary Elementals. I would like to be able to make peace with all of them.”

Trixie was feeling an odd . . . itchy feeling in her head. “You want to meet all four?” she asked, right out of the blue.

“Actually, yes,” Celestia asked. “Why?”

Before Trixie could answer . . . the salamander disappeared, making an audible pop like a log snapping in a fire.

All four of them blinked, startled at the abrupt departure. “Did we do, or say, something wrong?” Celestia asked, sounding quite concerned and worried.

That itchy feeling had faded the moment the salamander had vanished, but it abruptly returned, and with a vengeance. Her mental vision swam with multiple images for a moment, and then she weakly replied, “We . . . we have company.”

The three Princesses looked blankly at each other for a moment, but, truthfully, a moment was all they had before they understood.

Off to one side the campfire, now gently smoldering embers, abruptly erupted into a towering column of roaring flame as tall as the wagon.

Overhead the air suddenly began spiraling, whipping around in a concentrated, yet controlled, tornadic frenzy.

Beneath them the ground abruptly trembled, sharply enough to knock over the pot and mug sitting on the chair, the chair itself tipping on its side moments later.

From the direction of the stream came the sound of an enormous cascade, the spray visible from between the trees surrounding the clearing.

And just as quickly as all of that had occurred . . . it all ceased.

But they were no longer alone.

Stepping from the now-calm, cheerily burning campfire was a salamander. This one, however, when it stood upright on its hind legs, was extremely tall, dwarfing Trixie's friend, the top of its head reaching Celestia's withers. There was a sense of controlled power wrapped like a nimbus around it, an energy so staggering that Trixie felt overwhelming panic.

Trixie had intellectually known how dangerous her little friend potentially had been; she'd been aware that, should he have chosen to do so, he could have consumed Trixie's wagon —and Trixie herself— in the blink of an eye. But this new salamander, he —and somehow she knew it was male— could turn Ponyville to less than ash in the same amount of time.

But before she lost all composure and started screaming in terror, two things, virtually simultaneously, happened.

The first was that she trusted her little friend. She did not, in the least, believe it had been mere coincidence that he had flickered out only to have these other four arrive moments later, which meant he had, somehow, brought them here. Well, invited, brought, guided, whatever. The salient point was that Trixie simply couldn't believe that her little friend would betray her, and so, it followed that the new arrivals, no matter how fearsome they might appear, were, in turn, not hostile.

The second was when her eyes met his. And the moment they had . . . Trixie relaxed. There was no raging fury there, no bestial frenzy, no mindless violence. Power, oh yes! Of that there was plenty. Stern resolve, inexorable command, that, too. Then again, both Diarchs certainly could look that very same way, couldn't they?

Speaking of which . . .

A quick glance about showed all three alicorns seemingly frozen, poised on the brink of defensive protection and offensive battle, but also appearing extremely unsure and hesitant. It was obvious none of them wanted combat; it was equally clear that none of them were going to leave Equestria open to disaster.

Oh well. Somepony needs to do something before this gets out of hoof.

Stepping away from the table, Trixie gravely paced over towards the huge salamander. She ignored the hiss of dismay and warning behind her as she did, stopping just feet before the Fire Elemental, feeling the heat radiating off of him. Sinking into an exquisite curtsy she decorously announced, “Welcome to Equestria. May I have the honor of introducing to you our reigning Diarchs, Princess Celestia and Princess Luna and, in addition, our Princess of Friendship, Princess Twilight Sparkle,” indicating each one, in turn, with a gracious motion of her hoof.

Her head tickled again and, as it did, he gazed with a frightening intensity into her eyes . . . and then bowed . . . to her.

“If you'll forgive me a moment?” she requested, feeling almost as if she were inebriated, her mind was so giddy with overload. When he nodded she turned about, this time quickly moving over to their second unexpected guest.

The ground at the intersection where her clearing path met the wooded pathway had erupted into a towering pile of soil and earth, which had then collapsed into a caldera surrounding their second arrival, a Gnome. However, calling him a gnome was like calling the newer salamander a “mere salamander”. He, too, would reach Celestia's withers should he stand upright, which made him an enormous specimen of his type indeed. Unlike the salamander, which did, indeed, resemble the amphibian of that name, the gnome —as did all his kind— looked like a beaded lizard, his skin consisting of small, beadlike scales that didn't overlap. Unlike the typical beaded lizard, however, Gnome's scales weren't brilliant warning colors but, instead, were dun and earthy, and their paws were much larger, resembling spades, while the claws glinted in the light, resembling gems.

Indeed, Gnomes could burrow through earth as easily as fish swam through water, and those claws could gouge stone like a grater through cheese. They might be tremendously slow, but they were also enormously strong, and one of this size and power could probably drop all of Ponyville into a crater in the course of several hours.

She approached the gnome with the same grave decorum as she had the salamander. And, as she had with the salamander, she greeted him on behalf of Princesses Celestia, Luna, and Twilight Sparkle.

As she paced over to the third Primary Elemental, Trixie had to smother a very inappropriate, albeit understandable, giggle. Is this what being sunstruck is like? she wondered, because everything was taking on a very surrealistic sensation.

This one was an undine, and she undoubtedly had come up from the nearby stream. She was smaller than the other two, perhaps by a third, but the power Trixie could sense coiled within her was by no means any less powerful. In fact, Undines were possibly even more powerful than Salamanders. Granted, Salamanders were flashier in their destruction, but Undines could erode a mountain just as easily as a Salamander could melt and vaporize one. It was a merely a matter of time.

They also resembled Salamanders in that the closest taxonomic representation for an undine was a newt. Their skin was glistening and moist, and colored mostly in patterns of blues and greens, except for their backs which were cream and white and resembled frothy foam.

She preferred to stay on all fours, and the ground beneath her paws, and wherever she had stepped, was visibly moist. As Trixie approached, the undine's shoulders lifted, her head and neck raised; her eyes, literal pools of slowly whirling bluish-green looking very much like a revolving maelstrom, gazed very intensely at her.

As she did for the salamander and gnome, Trixie courteously welcomed her to Equestria on behalf of the three Princesses.

This left the final one of the four who, at the moment, remained hovering overhead. Trixie paced over to approximately several steps before her (should she land, that is) then patiently waited. The sylph —as were all Air Elementals— was exceptionally pretty, resembling a sleek lizard with a tail almost as long as the body. The tail was extremely mobile, and ended in a flat, spaded barb. Ridged spines ran the length of the body from crest to tail, while the skin was covered in fine, overlapping, supple scales. The head was tapered, longer than a typical lizard, and narrower as well. But the truly defining, and mesmerizing, aspect of all sylphs were their wings.

Twilight's jaw dropped as she gazed upwards at the enormous sylph hovering above. She'd seen wings very much like those, the time she'd given Rarity a set of enchanted ones.

The sylph floating overhead was gently fluttering wings whose overall size could easily cover the small table of Trixie's with room to spare. She actually had two sets of overlapping wings, the upper set more squarish with the lower more trapezoidal, their trailing edges ending in teardrops. They were almost transparent, with shimmering polychromatic hues brushstroking their surface. Her eyes looked as if a pegasus was peering down into the slowly-rotating eye of a cyclone, and her scales were colored such that she resembled a thunderstorm: dark-grey on her belly shading upwards to the icy white of the anvil.

She gazed at Trixie for a rather long time before finally drifting downwards, landing with a gentle zephyr puffing about her. Once again Trixie repeated her welcome and greeting before, at last, returning to three very awestruck, and fascinated, alicorns.

Gazing up at Princess Celestia she confessed, “Trixie is afraid she needs a bigger table.”