Light tic-tic-tics echoed in the silence, as Spike, talons clicking against the stone floor, slowly jogged down corridors. The fireworks display —how that seemed such an inadequate description!— had ended about fifteen minutes ago, yet Trixie had not, as yet, made a reappearance. Virtually the entire audience was still milling about, very few —if any— having departed, and with no few waiting for Trixie to return, eager to congratulate and thanks.

Spike was, for certain-sure, that tonight would remain talked about for months, if not years. Decades, even. In one, single, twenty-five-minute performance (and, again, that seemed such an scanty description!) Trixie had shown herself truly worthy of her self-bestowed moniker of “The Great and Powerful” —and Spike was absolutely positive that that had not been her primary intention . . . or any intention at all, for that matter.

As he lightly jogged along, he felt the light thump of his neck pouch as the weight inside swung back and forth; that weight belonged to a small but perfect blue star diamond, the exact shape of the ones that formed the cutie mark that decorated Rarity’s flanks. It hadn’t disappeared at the end of the performance. And Spike was a dragon; he most certainly could tell the quality —and thus deliciousness— of precious gems, so he knew this one was real. It wasn’t costume; a fake. It wasn’t illusionary.

It was real.

He wondered how many ponies were feeling like he was: a heel. He’d never understood why Twilight had had any interest in Trixie; had no idea what she’d thought she’d seen there. Even though he’d unbent enough to accept that Twilight really wanted to be friends with that showpony, accepting that concept wasn’t at all the same as accepting Trixie, or forgiving her.

His cheek scales glowed a dull cherry, as his face grew hot in shame. Everypony made mistakes; he made mistakes. Turning into a gigantic, destructive dragon simply due to greed was proof of that! But everypony had been willing to forgive him for that. Everypony had been willing to forgive Twilight when she’d run amok with her “Want It Need It” fiasco. Sweet sapphires, even Discord had been forgiven!

But nopony had ever been willing to forgive Trixie.

Except for Twilight.

Even when Trixie had done her best just living a simple, unobtrusive life, virtually nopony had forgiven, let alone forgotten. Everypony had simply turned a blind eye to her . . . but tonight she had proven, beyond any shadow of a doubt, that Trixie had been playing very close attention to everypony else.

Four days. Trixie had had only four days warning, only four days to prepare. The first fifteen minutes of the performance, and all the preparation that that would had entailed, would certainly have consumed a large chunk of that time. But she’d then concluded with a series of fireworks to honor the Bearers of the Elements of Harmony. She’d managed to capture the essence of each, distilling that down into its purest form, something she absolutely could not have done on the spur of the moment. And then, having done so, she'd then displayed that into an individual firework for each one of them.

A firework.

Except for Spike.

He loved his friends, he really did. And he most certainly loved Twilight Sparkle. But there were times —more, actually, than he wished— when he felt . . . overlooked. Taken for granted. Where he felt more as if a hanger-on than as a participant. It wasn’t a matter of him craving the attention, the glory, the honor, as it was being tired of being viewed as a groupie . . . when he wasn’t outright being treated like a baby dragon, that is.

Pausing at a four-way intersection, Spike strained his senses, seeking any sort of clue that might indicate where Trixie might be. As he did, a small forepaw gently closed around his neckpouch, and the priceless diamond inside.

Not once. Not twice. But a full three times, Trixie had recognized, and honored, Spike in that breathtaking exhibition.

This diamond was the first time, and —his cheeks warmed as he recalled the circumstances— he had gotten it during Rarity’s part. And the only reason for that, that Spike could deduce, was that Trixie wanted to give Spike something in recognition of his feelings for the fashionista unicorn. The second had to be symbolic of Spike’s part in helping to save the Crystal Empire, while the third —taking place during Twilight’s part— had demonstrated Trixie’s awareness of the deep, intense partnership and love that Spike and Twilight shared.

In fact, the entire second half of tonight’s fireworks display revealed an amazing perspicuity about the disdained unicorn showpony. And —he admitted to himself, with an ease that would have stunned him just this morning— had proved to everypony, and not just himself, how very wrong they’d all been judging Trixie the way they had.

Except for Twilight.

From the very beginning, she’d backed Trixie, defending her reputation from the nasty slings and arrows sent her way. In fact, that was one of the very few times that her friendships and associations had been severely strained. Yet, even in the face of that, although Twilight may have ceased vocally protesting, neither had she capitulated. Instead, a rather uneasy, implicit truce had formed.

There were three things you didn’t talk about at the dinner table with visiting relatives: religion, politics . . . and Trixie.

At first Spike hadn’t believed it when Twilight said that Trixie was reluctant to put on the exhibition, but had only agreed to do so because Twilight had sort of snookered her into doing so. Yeah; ri-iiiight, Spike had thought, for certain-sure that little-miss-humility was just gleefully rubbing hooves together in anticipation of launching a comeback. But as the days passed by, nothing that Trixie had said, or done, had seemed to support that. And neither did anything about her entire act. Granted, it was pretty amazing, her just appearing and disappearing like that. But there was no comparison between her earlier, flamboyant performances, and tonight’s silent one. And yes, simply seeing her silently stand there, motionless save for the two introductions, was a bit profound; sometimes less actually resulted in more. However, if she really was trying to be discreet, to have the limelight completely on the two Princesses and the Element Bearers, disappearing like that made sense.

But it didn’t make sense remaining absent for this long.

Spike started turning to the left, but something at the very edge of his hearing caught his attention. Turning to the right, he started purposefully jogging down the corridor, pausing for a moment at the next intersection. Motion caught his eye; turning to the right, and looking down that hallway, Spike noticed one of the Night Guard standing there. Before he could even start hazarding guesses as to why the guardpony was standing there, the thestral held a forehoof up to his lips in an unmistakable sign, before motioning for Spike to approach.

Silently tiptaloning, the little dragon quietly grew closer. He wondered what was going on, even as he suspected he knew the answer.

And then he no longer had to suspect, for, behind the closed door to one of the utility closets, Spike clearly heard the muffled sobs. Wails of such anguish, of such agony and heartbreak and grief, as seldom as Spike had ever heard before.

That was amazing!

Way to go!

Awesome!

How did you do that?

Three cheers for Silver Spoon!!

The soft grey filly wasn’t used to being the center of admiration or acclaim. Center of attention, oh yes; yes indeedy! Light purple eyes were quite rounded behind her glasses, as literally every one of her classmates were surrounding her and cheering . . . even the Cutie Mark Crusaders!

She might be unfamiliar with being the object of admiration or acclaim, true, but she was certainly well-versed in recognizing sycophancy. And this most certainly was as sincere as it gets!

Earlier she had been huffy and feeling miserable going to this . . . affair alone. Well, alone due to Diamond Tiara, her closest —actually, her only— friend not attending; she was with her parents, after all. But she might as well have been alone even with them there. Silver Spoon had already been rehearsing the pity-party she was going to throw later tonight with her parents, and had already decided what they would get her as an apology, to compensate her for her misery and for forcing her to attend.

Well, that wasn’t going to have much of a chance, not after what had happened!

And thank Stocks and Bonds that Diamond hadn’t been there! She’d be fuming at all the attention Silver Spoon was getting! One thing that DeeTee simply couldn’t —and wouldn’t!— ever forgive was anypony taking the center of attention away from her! She’ would have made Silver Spoon’s life absolutely miserable for as long as it took for her to feel satisfied that sufficient punishment had been rendered.

Because of her parents’ social status and standing, the three of them had been seated quite close to the stage where Princesses Luna and Twilight had been sitting. Prepared for a dull, boring plebian exhibition, within minutes the young filly had found herself, instead, amazed at the astonishing performance.

Unlike her classmates, however, she wasn’t at all paying attention to the what-and-when of the silly little counterfeit wand she’d been given. At least, not until . . .

Silver Spoon had felt an odd little shiver twitch her coat as that ominous, brooding form loomed overhead, a shiver that had grown more pronounced when she’d clearly seen how Princess Luna had grown so still, her entire posture radiating apprehension, if not outright fear. She couldn’t seem to tear her eyes from the Princess of the Night, not even when everyponies’ wands finally illuminated; not even when her classmates started using them. And as the last one had been fired off . . . as that looming monstrosity remained . . . as Silver Spoon had watched Princess Luna actually look fearful . . .

Sweet Faust! I’d give anything to help!

The next thing she clearly remembered was being swarmed by her classmates. Unfortunately, her parents clearly weren’t at all pleased by their little filly making an uncouth spectacle of herself. Maybe nopony else could tell that, but she could, and Silver Spoon was already growing anxiously tense, bracing in anticipation for when they were finally together at home. Well, there went any chance of wheedling anything out of them!

It took a few moments for the silence, and the wide eyes, of her classmates to register through her mental pout, and when it did, she realized she was standing alone, the school ponies having backed away several paces, their eyes wide and awed. What in the world? she though, turning around in puzzlement. Oh!

Silent as the night itself, there stood Princess Luna, gazing quite intently at her. An odd, thoughtful . . . measuring gaze. Silver Spoon wasn’t afraid; none of her classmates were afraid of Princess Luna. And none of them could understand why Princess Luna had the reputation of being stern and humorless. She was sweet! She was kind and funny!

She found herself kneeling; not bowing —which would have been bad enough— and not curtsying —which would have been proper— but kneeling: left foreleg bent, right foreleg extended, neck straight, head tipped down, muzzle just above the ground. There was an odd . . . something . . . jingle-jangling along her nerves, like electricity.

“Silver Spoon,” Princess Luna finally spoke up, her voice sounding oddly deep and ponderous . . . and very archaic. “Thou hath been borne into wealth and privilege. Thou hast always been given all that thou hast desired. Art thou willing to forswear and foregoeth all that thou art, to become all that thou mayeth? Wilt thou forswear and foregoeth all for thy Liege, thy Lady of the Night?”

For some reason, as heavily archaic as her speech was, Silver Spoon somehow understood. Deep inside, a sensation, one she hadn’t felt since she’d gotten her cutie mark, roused . . . roused and expanded. Inexplicably, she understood exactly what Princess Luna was asking of her: to swear formal allegiance to her, become her sworn vassal, in the same way that every thestral —Nocturne and otherwise— avowed.

What did she want? Want to do with her future? Granted, she was still very young; not as young as a foal, of course, but nevertheless still a very young filly. Even so, quite often she found herself wondering about that nebulous future. Princess Luna was right: she had been given everything she could possibly want. But she never felt satisfied. Something was always lacking. Would it ever be enough?

Silver Spoon understood what her future was meant to be. She was neither slow, nor shallow, nor dull, no matter that she acted that way. Husbands need to feel more dominant —cleverer, stronger, taller, funnier— than their wives. She heard —and overheard— that often enough. And that went doubly —if not triply— so for young mares seeking suitors. So, even so she might be very young now . . . she wouldn’t always be so, and her parents had already begun inculcating the proper attitudes suitable for a filly of good breeding.

She was reasonably confident that her parents would find an appropriate match for her; that she’d have a husband who would continue pleasing his wife by getting her whatever whim struck her fancy.

Was that really what she wanted?

“Yes, My Lady,” she heard herself reply, her voice low and soft, but not a quiver to be heard. “I will.”

Voice thrumming, Luna announced, “Then rise, My Champion. And never again wilt thou kneel in Mine presence.”

As Silver Spoon stood back up, she was peripherally aware of several things: The dropped jaws of her parents; the equally flabbergasted expressions of her classmates; an internal wince imagining Diamond Tiara’s reaction. But those were exactly that: peripheral.

Princess Luna was tenderly smiling, an expression that warmed Silver Spoon down to her hooves. “Come, My Champion,” she smiled, her intonation once again modern and contemporary. “There is much I would like to discuss with you.”

Silver Spoon had no idea what that might be, but, she realized, she was looking forward to whatever Her Lady had to say; looking forward to that far more than any anticipation she’d ever had for gifts and presents.

As a general rule, the Nocturne had a reputation similar to that of their Lady, The Princess of The Night: taciturn, stern, forbidding, detached and dispassionate. Spike had always found that to be ridiculous, absolutely unfounded. Yes, he had not reacted well that first Nightmare Night, when Princess Luna had shown up. Neither had anypony else, for that matter . . . except for Twilight Sparkle. Because of that, Spike had been privy to the intense grief and sorrow Princess Luna had shown at the unreasoning, and quite undeserved, fear and despair from everypony. She had just wanted to be liked.

His stomach lurched; he felt very queasy. Trixie had just wanted to be liked.

Just like Princess Luna.

While thestrals in general, and the Nocturne —the Night Guard, also known as the Lunar Guard; Princess Luna’s personal guardponies— in particular, also had a grim reputation. Granted, and with far more reason, their reputation was not at all unfounded. History was a bit sketchy about the exact circumstances of their birth —and clarifying that was something that Princess Celestia had consistently categorically refused to do— but it was generally understood that thestrals were created either by Princess Luna, shortly before, ah, well . . . or by Nightmare Moon, in an explosive fit of destructive rage. Either way, both camps agreed upon several points: bat ponies (a derogatory term that, alas, still lingered on) had fangs, and weren’t afraid to use them; owed allegiance, and obedience, solely to their Lady of the Night, their Princess of the Moon; were blatant omnivores, and that, at the time of their birthing, had been very, ah . . . cosmopolitan in their diet; existed utterly and completely to serve their Lady, and see to it that she received her just due . . . which was generally understood to mean being the reigning Monarch, and not one of two cooperative Diarchs.

Spike was in no position to accurately verify most of that. And, much to his shame and chagrin, when Princess Luna had assigned two full squads of thestrals to Friendship Rainbow Kingdom Castle, that had given him the creeps. However, he really had matured quite a bit these last few years, and so he dragonfully swallowed his fears . . . only to discover, after all, that there was nothing, really, to fear.

Finding out that thestrals enjoyed practical jokes —and were actually quite inventive at them, too!— pretty much quashed any lingering reservations he might have harbored.

All of which meant that Spike wasn’t surprised to see obvious emotion displayed by one of the Night Guard. And anypony that saw the clear distress and worry that Spike was seeing would, never again, picture thestrals as cold, emotionless, and forbidding.

Motioning for the guard to lower his head down to Spike-level, the little dragon softly whispered. “I’ll be a few minutes but will be right back. In the meantime, nopony —and I mean nopony— is to disturb her.”

The guard simply nodded, straightening back up, his countenance, well . . . now focused and dedicated. Spike didn’t wait another moment. Just as quickly as he could do so, he quietly headed back down the hallway, picking up speed once around the corner, then swiftly trotted to the kitchen.

With the ease of long pracice, he swiftly put a kettle on to boil, then packed a tea infuser, not with chamomile —chamomile was great to help relax, but he needed something stronger this time— but with a very special blend of herbs: six parts motherwort, four parts rose petals, two parts each of hawthorn berry, linden, and violet, and one part each of cardamom and cinnamon bark. Zecora had provided him with not just the recipe, but the herbs and the instructions as well.

While the kettle was heating, he raced to the Master Linen Closet, grabbed a lavender-scented, heavy comforter, then dashed back down to the kitchen. Pouring the now-boiling water into the teapot, Spike dropped the infuser inside, closing the lid to contain the heat. While the tea brewed he quickly grabbed one of the bigger mugs, a container of sugar lumps, and a little jug of heavy cream.

Finally, grabbing a scrap of parchment and a quill he scribbled:

Twilight, Trixie is alright but sends her regrets. She really exhausted herself and isn’t up to dealing with a crowd. I’m watching her.

Considering his excellent calligraphy, one might be puzzled at the small ink blots and smears resulting from his sloppy notation. However . . .

Looks could be deceiving.

Several years ago, as Twilight Sparkle started becoming more and more noticeable, standing out as one of the Heroes —well, Heroines— of Equestria, she came to several unhappy conclusions, one of them being that her relationship with Spike was also just was well-recognized . . . as was his ability to send messages by Dragonfire. It was possible —highly unlikely, mind you, but, as her equations and graphs had clearly shown, the possibility did exist— that somepony with ill intent could foalnap either Spike, or Twilight and Spike together, and force Spike to send messages letting everypony think everything was fine.

So those “accidental spills” were anything but accidental, for Twilight had devised a code of sorts, and these current smudges stated “fine”, “don’t worry”, and “explain later”. Quickly rolling the parchment up, and, one quick gout of fire and a bright burst of flame, and off it went for delivery.

Several minutes later, and he was back outside the utility door. Setting the tea service tray down he picked up the heavy comforter. “Slide that,” he indicated with a hind paw, “inside once I’m in, then close the door. Nopony but Twilight is to disturb us.”

As soon as the guardpony had nodded, Spike took a deep breath . . . then opened the door a crack before slipping inside. And once he had . . .

The little dragon felt a stab of pure, unalloyed panic. Amongst the brooms, mops, and other arcane janitorial paraphernalia was Trixie, curled up in a tight ball on the floor and sobbing, deep racking wails of such utter and intense grief such as Spike had never heard before, not even from Twilight at her worst. He literally had no idea what was wrong; how she could go from such an amazing performance to this. What in Equestria had happened??

I . . . I can’t do this! he panicked, feeling like a baby dragon for the first time in ages, overwhelmed; terrified of accidentally making this worse. Before he could bolt, however . . . he felt the weight of the diamond at his throat . . . he remembered the fireworks that honored Spike for his role in saving the Crystal Empire . . . the fireworks that honored his relationship with Twilight Sparkle.

I can do this! And I will!

Casting the comforter over the distraught unicorn, Spike tucked it snugly around Trixie before hugging her tight, wrapping her in his arms . . . well, wrapping his arms as close as he could, what with their size differences that is.

Trixie froze; horrified at being found, she gathered her muscles in preparation for lunging up onto her hooves and running off. But she froze again, almost against her will, as she heard an odd, emotion-thickened, catched voice: “Shhhhh . . . shhhhh . . . it’s OK Trixie. I promise.”

Spike?

No. No, it most certainly not “OK” . . . and never would. Never would! She started sobbing again, her huddled body racked by them. “It burns,” she choked out. “It burns. Trixie tried. She really tried. But it . . . it never went away. No matter how hard she tried. It was always there. Always there. Whispering. Whispering. Oh . . . oh! Trixie should never have performed again. She should never have promised. But . . . but she looked so sad. So sad. How could Trixie not? But now it burns again. Like acid. Like fire.”

A much deeper, soul-tearing sob. “Trixie . . . Trixie just wants to die!”

Author's Notes:

Pre-read by: Dusk Melody Thanks again!