Lyra had turned Octavia invisible (a spell, she explained, that she’d learned from Lulamoon) just before the security ponies had entered. Octavia hadn’t thought it would work; Lyra hadn’t turned her inaudible and her breath and heartbeat had been quite loud, but evidently the guards at the Music Academy didn’t have the sort of ears that could let them hear those things. They’d left the room in confusion.

After that, the two mares had stayed in the archives room, looking over the records of their previous accomplishments. Octavia had known that she was too physically exhausted to be able to play to her standards, and so decided that it would make more sense to pack it in for the day and start early the next. So they talked about concerts they’d played at, awards they’d won, even commentary in the papers from music critics and nobles. It was dark by the time they left.

“What more do you need to do?” asked Lyra.

“I’d still like to go over the third movement a little more, and the fourth as well. That can be tomorrow. And then… well, then the ending.” Octavia smiled ruefully. “The fifth movement.”

“I tried looking up more information on it earlier, but I couldn’t find anything. The library doesn’t even have any recordings.”

“So I must write it from scratch, then.” Octavia thought. “I wish that I knew what the other musicians had tried. Even if only to know what not to do.”

Lyra nodded. “Well, I’ll help. I’ve been known to write the odd score or two.”

“Your ‘Canterlot Canter’ is still played at the school dance.”

“Really?” Lyra smiled. “Awesome. No sweat, Octavia, I’ll assist.”

“I will start coming up with themes tonight. If I can get the fundamental ideas, harmonizing them and transcribing them for cello should not be overly difficult.”

“I’ll do the same.” Lyra tapped Octavia’s hoof. “Dawn tomorrow?”

“That sounds perfect.”

The next day was, despite all the circumstances, peaceful.

“Allegro, allegro,” said Octavia. “This section needs speed.”

“Working on it,” said Lyra. “Give me a minute.”

She played it a few times, trying to get the innumerable details, grace notes, staccato bits, everything down to the point where she could rattle them off on her lyre. She winced as she missed a note and muffed a chord. “Sorry. One more—“

“Like this,” said Octavia, showing her a slightly different way of strumming the note in question. “Try it like this.”

Lyra did.

“Hmm… still not quite fast enough.”

Lyra giggled. “You haven’t changed a bit.”

“Music is a harsh mistress,” said Octavia, but she was smiling. “Here. Let me show you.”

She played the sequence on her cello, bow rippling over the strings. “Like that.”

Lyra cocked her head. “Didn’t you neglect the grace note in measure seven?”

“What? No. It was there.”

“It was tiny!”

“It was appropriately sized—“

Lyra laughed. “It was miniscule. It wasn’t just graceful, it was practically fleeting.”

Octavia played it again. “Does that work, then?”

“Much better.”

The day passed quickly, and by the time the sun was beginning to set, Octavia felt confident in her rendition of the first four movements.

“What’d you come up with for movement five?” asked Lyra, as they went down to dinner.

“Well, the next part has to describe Luna defeating the Tyrant Sun,” said Octavia. She looked at her notes. “So I based my ideas off of that. Recapitulations of the more powerful themes from before, Luna’s theme enhanced, Corona’s distorted… the two battle and fight until Luna’s rises up and overwhelms Corona’s… and it ends with Luna’s, and just a hint of Corona’s, to represent that she’s still out there and a threat, but beaten all the same. I think it’s a good place to start, but I’m sure the other cellists who tried this piece did the same.”

“Yeah.” Lyra nodded. “I couldn’t come up with anything really original either.”

“I know most of the music that the Court plays to honor Luna,” continued Octavia. “It might be worth trying to work in a theme or two from there. But that doesn’t feel right either. The original composer didn’t have access to those works; they all came later.”

“It’s still probably a good thing to think about,” said Lyra. “I mean, she likes the Court songs or she wouldn’t have them played, right?”

“I suppose.” Octavia frowned. “But I don’t think it will be enough. This music needs to represent Luna and Corona. But I don’t know Luna at all, and, thank the stars, I’ve never met Corona. As for the works usually played in public… well, being a princess requires a persona. I don’t think those show the real them either, so they won’t be as useful.”

“It’s too bad you can’t talk to Luna,” said Lyra. “I mean, not as an interview, but just chatting. I bet that would help.”

“I suppose I could write Lulamoon and ask what Luna is like in her more personal moments,” joked Octavia. “But… no, I don’t think even that would be enough. Lulamoon knew Luna when the realm was at peace; when Luna was calm and regal. If that was all I needed, I could probably get it from the first movement of the Symphony. I would need somepony who had seen Luna… and preferably, Corona too… facing each other. Obviously, I can figure out that Luna won, but the fine details…”

She trailed off. She understood now. She had something none of the other musicians had been so fortunate as to have. She had a friend, a very special friend, and so she had a chance.

“Lyra.”

“What?”

Octavia bowed her head. “You were there. When Corona fell a second time, when her sister stood up to her, you saw it. Please – teach me about the battle between Moon and Sun.”

“I feel like a foal,” grumbled Octavia.

Lyra smiled. “Now, Octavia. I’m a bard. This is what I do. Trust me.”

Octavia was standing in the grass in a small park in Canterlot. Lyra had insisted that they be outside while she told the story; it would, she said, help set the appropriate mood. A few other ponies were nearby – foals playing in the grass, under the watchful eyes of parents – but none were paying attention to the two musicians.

“My coat will get grass stains, and—“

“Oh, hush. There’s nothing wrong with a bit of green in your coat,” said Lyra.

Octavia smiled slightly. “Alright.” She settled down in the grass. “So. Corona and Luna. How did they… well, interact?”

Lyra looked up and began to strum her lyre. “It was weird. I mean, when we met Corona earlier, in Ponyville and at the castle, it was like in the books and the fairy tales.” She was playing a fast, rapidly shifting chromatic scale, a nervous and tight series of notes. “The Sun herself, beautiful and mad. She demanded our loyalty, threatened to kill those who resisted… she kidnapped my Bonbon, and a bunch of others… she was a monster.”

Octavia already knew this about Corona, but didn’t say anything. She wouldn’t interrupt one of Lyra’s performances.

“When she had us cornered in the castle, that was the worst. We’d been struggling all day to find the Elements, but they were just rocks and we couldn’t figure out how to use them. Trixie had been cursed by poison joke so we couldn’t talk to her or see her, Carrot Top and Raindrops were cursed too, and I was half-dead from exhaustion – I used a ton of magic fighting monsters on the way. We’d barely managed to fight off one of her minions, and then she showed up, and she…”

Lyra shivered. “She mocked us. We were like ants in front of her, and she just laughed at how weak we were. She was going to kill us, and there wasn’t anything we could do about it. And she knew it.”

“But… well, we became the Elements, and we beat her. She crashed into another tower, and we all collapsed right afterwards. Then Luna came back, and she was really proud of us.” Lyra grinned. “The princess bowed. In gratitude for what we’ve done, in defeating her sister again.”

Lyra played for several minutes without saying anything else. The tune was light, simple, rhythmic, and merry; the sort of song a victorious army might whistle as they marched home. But then, slowly, it changed, with more complexities layering on until it was difficult to follow. “But then it got strange. We followed Corona, and… and she was scared. Of her sister, a little at the end, but also for us.”

Scared?

“She spoke about how we ponies needed protection, a strong ruler to guard us from monsters.” The music grew more intense, almost violent. “We belonged to her, she said, but… but it wasn’t like she was some foal who didn’t want anypony to play with her toys. She sounded like an overprotective parent who tries to control her foals so they won’t get into trouble.” She looked down. “I almost felt bad for her.”

“…and Luna?” whispered Octavia. It felt impossible to think of the Tyrant Sun as anything but a soulless, devouring monster, but if what Lyra said was true, there was more to Celestia than just depraved insanity.

“She was sad,” said Lyra. The music became stronger, but shifted into a minor key with dark, diminished chords. “She didn’t want to hurt her sister.”

After a thousand years? And what she did? Really?

“She begged Corona – Celestia – Tia, she called her – to give up and get help. She was almost in tears. At the end, she did try to seal her away again so that she could protect us… and she didn’t shy away from that, she’d have done it if not for one of Corona’s servants… but she wasn’t happy about it.”

Lyra played in silence again, letting the music build to a melancholy, bittersweet conclusion. “I was surprised too,” she said, at the end. “But I guess they’re still sisters, and that means something.”

“…we’re so small before them,” mused Octavia. “To me… to most of us, Corona was just a monster. The hero beat the monster. Why would we even think that the hero might be sad? That’s not how those stories go.” She smiled slightly. “The villain is slain and the heroes and civilians rejoice.”

“That’s how the songs usually go too,” said Lyra.

“But if Luna still felt so strongly one millennia later… it must have been agony to do it the first time.” Octavia stared up into the night sky, the sky that Luna had crafted and woven, a tapestry of lights for her Court to plot by, and the other ponies to sleep under. The children and their parents had gone home by now; it was just her and Lyra, alone in the park. “Do you think the other musicians knew what those two felt?”

“I would never have thought of it if I hadn’t seen it for myself,” said Lyra. “Luna, looking sad? Reluctant? Corona, evil, but also almost pitiable? And both of them fighting, not about ego or whatever, but over protecting us? I didn’t expect any of it.”

Octavia heard Lyra. And, perhaps more importantly, she heard the music. She heard the themes, melodies, even the delicate phrasing. Corona, not the jarring jangle of a mere psychopath, but a clear voice trapped in a chaotic, discordant delusion, a danger and a menace but also a victim in her own way. She heard Luna’s theme, not a dominating, overpowering tidal wave of sound, but reluctant to use its own power and volume.

And she heard the voices of the citizens, rising and falling in fear or relief. Fighting over us… for us…

“I know how to play it,” she whispered. “I know how to play the Symphony.”

Lyra grinned. “That helped? Really?”

“More than I had dared hope.” Octavia rose. “I think I have a chance now. Thank you, Lyra.”

Lyra embraced Octavia, who stiffened, but then let it go without comment. “Good luck.”

“Tomorrow, I practice. Tomorrow night, I perform.” She nodded. “If you have a ticket, I would be honored for your attendance--”

“Of course I do – and of course I’ll show up. This piece, with you playing? I wouldn’t miss it for the world.” Lyra chuckled. “I know the papers are still saying we’re working together, I know that, if I’m there and look like I’m supporting you and Luna doesn’t like it, we’ll both be in trouble. And I don’t care. I’m going to be there, Octy.”

Octavia nodded. “Then may I ask a favor?”

“Anything,” said Lyra.

Octavia hesitated. “I may be practicing until the very last minute. It may take me some time to master the fifth movement. Even if it looks like I am delayed, even if the nobles begin to whisper that I have run away… wait for me. Please.” She bowed her head. We both know that, if I am late, most other ponies would run away -- they would think I had fled the performance and would not want to be associated with me. But Lyra, I hope—

Lyra laughed. “That’s it? Say no more. I’ll wait for you. I’m not going to run away to save my own flank.”

The two friends smiled at each other before turning to go. As they went, Octavia allowed herself a grin. She had her friend, and she knew what to do with the piece. Nothing could get in her way now.

“Greengrass is planning something,” muttered Prince Blueblood. “This has his hoofmarks all over it.”

The Viscount was pacing in his room. He’d just gotten back from talking to the Duke about Octavia’s treatment of him outside. Blueblood had pretended to be enraged by Octavia’s ‘insolence’ to him on the street, hoping that Greengrass might let slip a clue as to that insolence – had he promised to raise her up beyond Blueblood’s reach, for example, or was he perhaps cutting her loose and inducing her to flail at others in self-destructive despair? But Greengrass hadn’t said. He’d only offered to let Blueblood use Octavia for a job if he wanted, in order to make up for the slight. That told Blueblood nothing.

“Okay. I can figure this out. What facts do I have?” He knew that he wasn’t as dumb as a lot of the other Courtiers treated him. He was, after all, a Blueblood, and had all the requisite education and training. He knew politics. All he had to do was think hard enough, and he’d be able to suss out Greengrass’s schemes.

“One. Octavia is Greengrass’s agent. One of his most useful agents – she has access to every noble in the castle, thanks to her musical ability, and apparently she can identify ponies by ear, so she’s good for security too.” He nodded. His dossiers on Greengrass’s agents were woefully incomplete – and that was a problem that would need to be resolved, and shortly – but Octavia was something of a celebrity and so it was difficult for even Greengrass to hide her talents. “Two. Octavia is playing the Symphony for Moon and Sun, which has wrecked the career of every musician who has ever played it. Three. Octavia is fine with this and is not looking for a way to escape. Four. Greengrass is also fine with this and hasn’t forced her to call it off.”

He paused in his pacing to glance around his richly-appointed living room. “Horseshoe! A cup of mulled wine.”

“Yes, sir,” called his hoofmare from the neighboring room.

“Okay. So she’s going to ruin her career, and Greengrass will let her. But why?” Blueblood frowned. “What possible reason would there be?”

(Horseshoe came in with the wine. Blueblood took it and curtly dismissed her – he wanted to stay on his train of thought.)

“Possibility one. With her career as a musician dead, she could be in a position to switch to another. Suppose Greengrass wants her as his head of security. This gives her an excuse to do that and stop performing.” He paused. “No. She wouldn’t agree to it. From what I know of her, she lives to play music. She’d never agree to give it up, so she wouldn’t agree to that plan. Besides, if Luna hated her, Greengrass using her – even for security – could cause him problems.

“Second option. Greengrass is throwing her overboard and forcing her to play this piece so that she has to leave town. She won’t be able to perform here anymore if she screws it up, so she’d have to go somewhere else, far away from the Court.” He thought. It wasn’t a bad idea, but there was one major flaw. “Octavia wouldn’t agree to that either, though. She wouldn’t let him kill her career. If that was what was going on, she’d have taken my escape route.” He supposed that it was theoretically possible that some mares would feel honor-bound to play at the concert, to not try to get out of it with lies, but Octavia wasn’t one of them. She’d agreed to work for Greengrass and sell out her friends to get better performances, so honor and honesty were clearly not high on her list of priorities. She’d have taken Blueblood’s offer if she’d thought it was the best chance to save her career.

“Or the third option. They think they have a way to play the piece to Luna’s standards.” It seemed impossible – Blueblood knew the history of the piece; his education had included a thorough grounding in all kinds of cultural classics – but it was the most likely possibility yet. “If she can do it, Octavia will impress Luna. She may even be made a Court Musician. And then Octavia gets what she wants, recognition as a great musician, and Greengrass gets an agent right next to Princess Luna.” He paused. “It makes perfect sense. That must be their plan.”

No. No, that is not going to happen.

Blueblood was working with Greengrass on the gala project, yes, but he wasn’t comfortable with letting all of the earth pony’s other schemes work out as well. Greengrass already had too many agents in the Court. Clerks, secretaries, maintenance ponies, … it was even rumored that a few members of the Palace Guard were on his payroll. Blueblood didn’t want Greengrass getting yet another highly-placed agent.

Besides. He’s been making all the big moves lately. I think it’s time I reminded the Court that I’m a capable politician in my own right. I’ll be the first pony in quite some time to take on Greengrass and win. I’ll screw up his plan, reveal my involvement after the gala project, and send a very clear message that even the brilliant Greengrass will need to be careful around me. He nodded sharply. I know what they’ve been saying. That I, with all my experience, have been surpassed by that upstart. Well, once I disrupt this plan of his, I’ll show them who has surpassed who.

But how to do it?

Poison or injure Octavia? No. That was the action of a mobster thug, not a Viscount. Besides, if Octavia had an excuse for missing the concert, she could probably reschedule without consequence. She’d still get to perform for Luna.

Trick Octavia into thinking the performance was canceled? No. Octavia would check for herself.

Or maybe he could –

Wait. Yes. That plan would work perfectly. Even the Duke wouldn’t be able to see it coming.

He smiled. I’ve got them. Octavia will never show up to that concert.