It was at his new coffee table that Ser Vincent sat, out of armour, on his new expensive couch, and bandaged heavily. He wore some jogging pants on his fit and muscular form, green bandages aglow with speckles of sapphire light, the aroma of herbs, mint, and pungent garlic something he was used to by now.

A nasty navy ring had taken his left bicep but it was healing and heavily wrapped, his lower back pooling with bruises and aching as he tried to relax. He had to bring out some heavy duty healing ointment after a day like today; he was having difficulty raising his left arm. Didn’t stop him eating with his right hand, however.

He plundered a quick nutritional meal out of the still unpacked boxes, pork and fish entering the recipe because he felt he deserved a treat. Beside his now empty plate was a prescription bottle – he lived his entire life with these tablets and would likely die taking at least one with every meal, give or take a few occasions. He set aside his fork and scrubbed his maw with a napkin before picking up the bottle and popping the lid off with his thumb.

It was an odd ceremony of sorts; he had to eat on any mission, usually on the journey by train, but no matter what he devoured he always had one of these little pink tablets that tasted like baking soda. He could technically adhere to an all vegan diet but given his line of work, and the risk it involved if he couldn’t, it was safer for him to stick to an omnivorous diet boosted by muscle-repairing protein pills.

This was the first time he ate in his own abode. He refused to call this place home. The first time he’d would feed, free of the armour, gloves, tail, and coat, but with the mask watching him from the table’s surface. A habit of his was to keep it within hands reach at all times in case he needed conceal himself in a moment’s notice. Heck, outside of his own bedroom he slept with it on if necessary.

It was a friend. His shield against his fears and the irrational fears of those he protected. A five year companion broken, repaired, or replaced numerous times. The mask was a very important part of Ser Vincent’s life, after all, it made it work: he was only capable of getting where he was today when he put it on after the first time, when the world just… worked in his favour.

He had been content with that – he had no delusions or identity crises when wearing it. Although a part of him, it was a tool none the less. A tool that gave him a final line he could show his enemy had crossed, a veil that they pushed to look past and regretted.

“I’m not a monster but I can be."

He said that, didn’t he?

It wasn’t a tool was it? No. A switch. Again, he never fooled himself in thinking he was a pony one minute and human the next. He was always Ser Vincent. Something was simply standing with him and the just or against him and the cruel.

He had always been content with this. Never take off the mask. Never scare the innocent. And become the greatest knight to ever live. Why settle for adequate when it came to one’s work, after all? The respect that came with it was remarkable, something he really could have done with growing up.

But up till now he had been content…

So why was it that whenever he glanced to the mask now he was in doubt? It was terrible feeling, this whispering voice that started questioning “what if?” as it dug up numerous memories. It probably had something to do with the alchemy-enhanced, yellow gemstone that Sweetie Belle had left behind.

In the end no answer came and he washed the dish in the sink, in the dark. He thought about today, the pain he gained from it, the nagging questions that buzzed in his mind like rudely awaken bees. Moving around the counter and towards the stairs, the half-naked knight stopped, a stoic stare aimed at the little gold wind light.

“No way! You’re too nice to be a monster.”

He grabbed both the mask and the gemstone, letting the former hang from the weak grip of his left hand by his side. He turned to the stairs with a more pronounced limp— he wasn’t trying to hide it anymore, that and because he’d also had to wrap around the knee of his right leg.

As he slowly ascended he gave the gem a quick shake in his right hand, stirring the magic within the wind light. A soft yellow glow exploded from his palm, dying quickly. He took another step up, tossing it into the air and lighting up the entire room. A golden tail followed it, highlighting the thin lipped scowl of Vincent as he gazed ahead.

“You can change that, you know?” Rarity said with empathy lightly lacing her voice. “You clearly believe the clothes make the stallion, so why don’t we try and work something out?”

The gem came up and down again, the flaring light catching the sharp glare of his green eyes.

“A brave and kind knight in their eyes, but something else beneath the disguise.” Zecora’s words bounced in his mind as he caught the gem, letting the light die down as he stepped further up. “I see you detest ponies who put you under reproach, especially when they comment upon your approach.”

Well, who wouldn’t get annoyed at ponies prodding a sensitive part of him? He wore the outfit because he needed to work efficiently without being pestered about not being a pony. There… there was no other way around it.

The light rose up once more, catching a thunderous face setting in stone, emerald turning cold.

“I scared them with my presence so it did make sense, in a way. No, I was not chased out, but through the trust of a friend did their attitudes sway.” She nodded her head towards Sweetie Belle, cocking a brow at how she blew out a faint stream of smoke. She shook her head. “They see you are no threat, and in time, you’ll see, your hiding you’ll regret.”

He stopped after snatching the wind light out of the air, snuffing out the warming glow.

When he went away to Saddle Arabia and Zebrica it was under special arrangements and unique setting. Through Blue Blood he had contacts who were understanding and an established relationship that made results worth what Ser Vincent requested… depending which country was asked, at least.

Here he had nopony who understood and was simply abandoned in some renovated building in hopes of making it a home away from home.

“You know what I see? A soul that hardly lets anypony in, keep those who aren’t close at arm’s length. He’s tough, sturdy, enduring but not honest with himself, and disappears whenever nopony is watching. Dependable, aloof, but self-sacrificing.” She offered a soft smile. “He then speaks and I get to know him as more than that. What, I can’t say yet, but that’s what clothes do, dear heart. They appeal to somepony else.” Rarity gave the frozen hand a small squeeze, and his anxiety made it buckle beneath her touch. He’d really wished she’d stop doing this. “What’s one thing you want the world to know, Ser Vincent?”

So he wasn’t a monster without the mask to somepony outside his trusted small circle of friends… now that was a first. A pleasant first.

“Perhaps time amidst your more burly comrades has set you in your ways, Ser Knight. Maybe a mare’s touch in your life is exactly what you need?”

The light died out and his grip cruelly smothered the rough gemstone until it shook in his bare grasp. In the dark his intense stare was married with a harsh snort. Remembering that he had gifted Sweetie the wind light he lessened the tension in his hand, preventing himself from crushing the stone into dust. Heavy steps accompanied further up the stairs, shadowed but bit by bit moving forward.

He threw the stone into the air one more time. Nearing the top, when the thrown up wind light reached its peak, in momentum and glow, it caught his head atilt in the light, eyes softening.

“Blueblood likes you, the girls want to know you, I like you, and Sweetie trusts you.” She then looked towards the ceiling. “And you trusted her.”

He felt pull of his cheek at Rarity’s words. Eyes shifted in the dark, hidden as they watched the right hand grasp the golden gem.

“I’ve seen you without your mask and you’re not scary. You can take it off here if you want.” Sweetie then gasped, an excited grin spreading on her maw that unnerved him. “We could have tea parties!” Her tail waggled as she stood on her tips of her hooves, shaking with childish energy. “A tea party with a knight!”

The gem flew up once more and light brightened the landing. It caught the harsh features of his stoic gaze, the set jaw and forward stare. It also caught the softness of his eyes, and maybe it was a trick of the light, but quite possibly the slight curl of a lip. Steadily, he trudged forward knowing he’d need a good night’s sleep for what lay ahead in his future.

Author's Notes:

Like if you favourite or favourite if you like, but please, please, please leave a comment. It helps morally and to point out anything I need to work on. I sincerely hoped you enjoyed it at least.

And with Big Fear, Small Curiosity finished, I hope you continue the series with the next installment in the Changing States of Knight series: These New Days