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Symphony for Moon and Sun

by GrassAndClouds2

Chapter 17: Endgame Chorus

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Lyra sat on the stage and tried to hide her growing unease. There were only ten minutes until the show began. What in the world was the problem?

A few of the nobles, seemingly more sympathetic to her plight than the rest, had suggested that she duck out quietly. “If she doesn’t show up,” said one, “Luna might get mad at you, and a lot of the Court will shun you if she does. If you leave now, maybe you can dodge that. I know you’re loyal to your friend, but what if she got sick or something? She might not show up, and it’d be a shame if you got hurt too.”

But Lyra hadn’t listened. She had faith in Octavia. If the mare could arrive, if it was at all possible, she would. So long as there was a chance, Lyra would not abandon her friend and run away.

One pony, a pink mare who was bent and wrinkled with age, pulled Lyra aside. “Do you think she can really play it?” she asked, in a soft, raspy voice.

“Yes.”

The pony had smiled wistfully. “That’s good. I really hope she can. I think…” She paused. “I think Luna deserves to hear it performed correctly. And I would love to hear it too… just once.” For a moment, she seemed sad, as if she had some history with the piece. But then it passed, the ancient mare had said goodbye and gone to take her seat, and Lyra could only stare after her.

“Strange,” the lyrist heard another noble murmur. “I don’t know what the green one’s game is.”

“Something to do with the Elements, no doubt,” a third had responded.

“I don’t think so. Lulamoon would be here, then.”

“Isn’t she a friend of the cellist?”

“Not for long, at this rate!” And there was laughter.

An older mare, Vicereine Puissance, had politely inquired about Lyra’s health and affairs. “You know,” she’d said, smiling in a manner that didn’t quite reach her eyes, “I’ve heard good things about your music. And your spirit just now, with Blueblood, was quite bracing. Why don’t we talk after the show?”

“I’m not looking for a patron.”

Puissance had chuckled and withdrawn without saying anything else.

Lyra sighed and checked the door again. Nine minutes. Where was she?



Fancy Pants was standing by Luna’s booth. He glanced around, worried. All their work would go to waste if Octavia couldn’t deliver. He wanted to save the mare from being another victim of Greengrass’s schemes, but he and Fleur would be helpless if Octavia did not arrive.

He couldn’t use the Palace Guards to help her; they would need to take Octavia’s statement and have her evaluated for injuries, both of which would take too long. He couldn’t use the Shadowbolts; they were all working on various national security matters and could not be spared. He couldn’t even go himself, since he had been publically invited as a ‘guest of Luna’ and it would look strange for him to leave early. Fleur had gone to help, but Fancy Pants was worried that she wouldn’t be enough, that she would take on more than she could handle. Please be careful, Fleur. I know you care a lot about Octavia, but if you get hurt… He couldn’t finish the thought.

Up in his booth, Greengrass was looking at the stage. “Think she’ll arrive?” he asked Notary.

“No, sir.”

“Hmm.” Greengrass sighed. “I suppose I agree. Truly a pity. I did so want to hear that piece.”

The other nobles were taking their seats, whispering among themselves. There was only one major topic, though. The cellist, the one who had dared to proclaim she could play a piece that had never been satisfactorily performed in Equestrian history. Where was she? Had she flaked? Was she ill? Or just hiding in the back, waiting for a dramatic moment to take the stage?

And Fancy Pants began to murmur, as if Fleur was next to him. “Fleur…”

“Did you make it clear, that she has to be here?
Does she understand, she cannot reschedule?”

From his booth, Greengrass smiled. He felt unusually moved… moved to song, even.

“How straightforward the Game,
When all its rules are respected!”

(And Fancy Pants continued, “Did you make it clear, there are no exceptions?”)

“And those rules are the same
For a novice and a virtuoso!
No show, no dice! No appeal, no exception – no way!”

(“Do you think she knows, what giving up will cost her?”)

From his seat, one level above Greengrass’s, Archduke Fisher sneered at the scene. Greengrass’s mare had flaked. Very poor form on his part. That earth pony knew nothing of duty and less of tradition, but even a reprobate like him should have understood how a mare like Octavia, who had betrayed her own duties for profit, could be controlled.

“Does the pony exist,
“In any equine endeavor?”
(“Do you think she cares, what giving up will cost her?”)
“Known to resist
Sirens of fame and possessions?
Threaten to cut off supplies; and she’d come out to play.”

(“She’s a broken mare – good as back in Cheneigh.”)

Vicereine Puissance, above the Archduke, nodded to herself. That green mare was being foolish, but one couldn’t help fools. One could only use them. Once her friend crashed and burned, wrecking both their careers in the process, Lyra would be much more desperate… and thus much more amenable to a deal. It was a shame that Lyra was letting something as trivial as friendship lead her into such peril, but… well, again. She was a fool, and that was all there was to it.

“It’s the weak who assert
Tawdy untruths about friendship!
(What a way to learn, not to challenge Greengrass!)
Selling themselves short,
Chasing a spurious starlight!
Twinges of conscience sufficient to lead them astray!”

(“Foolish little mare. Everypony suffers.”)

Blueblood, smirking, trotted over to his seat near the ground floor.

“Though no expert at these things,
I’ll hazard this prognostication!”
(“Foolish little mare. Everypony suffers.”)
“That the cellist and Heartstrings
Have better chances of fighting
An ursa and winning than saving their careers today!”

(“Foolish little mare. Everypony suffers.”)

(“I don’t see that fool, ever playing again.”)

Lyra looked up. The hall had gone quiet. Why were they all staring at her?

And then the entire Night Court burst into song:

“We are all aware, of reputation!
But that empty chair, is condemnation!
Proof a mare has blown it, scuttled with dishonor!

No! She will be here!

Nopony gives a damn, for her dilemma!
A braggart’s failed scam! We’re sick of them! There’s
Far too much at stake for the cellist prima donna!”

Lyra could only shut her eyes. She would not leave, would not give in to fear in hopes of mitigating the Court’s anger at her. She would wait for Octavia. She will come. She will not let me down. I don’t care what they say!

“We can hardly begin to
Imagine why they’d risk all they put into
Their calling through the years!
The blood, the sweat, the tears!
The late late nights, the early starts!”

I won’t lose faith in her!

“Of course the effect is
Exactly what observers would expect, viz
The Court is set to jeer
The mare who isn’t here
Octavia has lost our hearts!”

Greengrass stood, feeling the urge to sing again.

“Is she still in bed?”
“Or in the shower?”

And then there was a loud cracking sound, and every head craned to see Luna appear in her booth. She was looking at the stage with a gaze that was completely inscrutable. Yet when she spoke, it was in a voice of absolute power and authority.

“Even if she’s DEAD,
I won’t allow a
Mare to show up after the appointed hour!”

Lyra looked at Luna, then back at the stage. Five minutes to go. Five minutes, and then it would be—

The door banged open, and Octavia – tail sweaty and askew, coat frazzled, mane a mess – entered the auditorium.

She looked at the staring Court, then nodded. “I apologize for my delay. The concert will still begin at the scheduled time. Thank you for your patience.”

And then she turned her gaze to Lyra. “I’m a few minutes behind,” she said in a calm, implacable, yet out-of-breath voice. “Could you please help me get unpacked?”



“What happened?” asked Lyra, levitating Octavia’s cello up. Octavia began racing through her tuning procedure. They were backstage, but they could hear the whispering Court.

“It doesn’t matter.” Octavia shook her head. “I have arrived. Thank you for waiting for so long.”

“I’d wait forever,” said Lyra. “I knew you’d make it.” Her horn glowed, and Octavia winced as her mane suddenly straightened itself. Another spell, and her tail did the same.

But that didn’t matter. Octavia just said, “I will not disappoint you.”

“The Court –“

“Forget the Court.” Octavia paused.

“They all think they see a mare
Who doesn’t know which way to go.
Whose private life led her decline,
Wrecked her grand design.
Some are mad, some are fools, and I was blind!
To think that I was of their kind!”

Greengrass watched the shadows of the two mares from behind the curtain. Though he couldn’t make out the details of their faces, he could still see that Octavia was ready to fight. Her movements were swift and sure, without betraying even a hint of doubt. Despite himself, he was impressed.

He turned to Notary:

“So she plans to fight, the situation!
See her appetite, and concentration!
How is so focused with her life before her fraying?”

Suddenly, his eyes widened.

“Looking at those mares, it’s her I’m seeing!
Lulamoon’s a fool, but yet her being
Here in spirit boosts them and it screws the way I’m playing!”

Behind the curtain, Octavia suddenly swiveled, pointing her bow out at the Court like a sword. And… was it Greengrass’s imagination, or was she pointing it at him?

Octavia sang to Lyra:

“Here I see some ponies caring
About one ancient composition! Sharing
Wins with the corrupt and the mad,
The petty, greedy, inane, sad.
They don’t pay attention to what goes on around them!
They leave all those they touch worse than they found them!
Is theirs the life I need? Obsessive, fiery greed?
While my friends burn and bleed to death?”

She shook her head – and then moved her bow to point at Lyra.

“When I think of you, my favorite student,
What would you prefer? I hide, for ‘prudence?’
No! They tried to ruin my life, so I’ll fight not to lose it!”

Octavia smiled at the green mare as she finished tuning. “Lyra, I could not have gotten this far without you. You are the greatest friend I could hope for.”

“Thanks.” Lyra grinned. “And you’re the best mentor – and friend, too.”

They embraced.

“Knock ‘em dead,” said Lyra. “Blast Luna’s hooves off.”

Octavia grinned. “I will not let you down.”

Lyra hurried off to take her seat. Octavia took a few moments to compose herself. Nothing else was in her way. The nobles, the Court, they couldn’t touch her. It was time to show Luna how this piece was really meant to be played.

And then – just before the clock struck 10 – Octavia stepped onstage.

The sight of the crowd chilled even a performer as professional and imperturbable as her. Archdukes and archduchesses, viceroys and vicereines, and, of course, Princess Luna. All staring at her. Some with open hostility in their faces.

But she could see Lyra too, in the audience, and she nodded. Lyra had waited for her, had total faith in her and loyalty to her. That faith and loyalty were merited. She was ready to prove it.

The clock struck ten.

Octavia bowed at Luna, raised her cello, brought up her bow, and began to play the Symphony for Moon and Sun.

Next Chapter: The Symphony Estimated time remaining: 30 Minutes
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