Big Fear, Small Curiosity.

by Crunchbiter

Rating: teen
Tags: Original Character, Rarity, Adventure, Zecora, Human, Sweetie Belle, Anthro, Main 6, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic
Length: 29448

Ser Vincent is moved to Ponyville, and his interest in the locals peak when he learns of a shaman living in the Ever Free. It takes the smallest of reasons, the littlest of temptations, to lead the human out. And her name was Sweetie Belle.

Ser Vincent is moved to Ponyville, the apologetic expenses from his best friend ensuring he couldn't complain if he wanted to. Before long, he already has his first house guest, and uninvited at that. His interests in the locals peak when he learns of a shaman living in the Everfree. It takes the smallest of reasons, a little curiosity, to lead the human out. And her name was Sweetie Belle.

The third story of The Changing States of Knight series. Starting with: To See Both Faces

Published 2015-07-19 21:20:02 UTC
Last updated 2015-10-05 06:00:12 UTC

Chapter One

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Chapter Two

Now, Rarity was rarely one to cry “fashion police” despite what others might claim. She was perhaps overzealous, her passion for fashion getting the best of her, but could anypony blame her? She was the go-to gal for fine tailoring in this town, her skills even drawing customers from across Equestria! She could say without a doubt that nopony in this town had nine near identical copies of clothing.

‘Well, he’s not exactly a pony, is he?’

Still, that wasn’t a justifiable excuse.

Besides, this would be an excellent time to hone her skills on masculine clients and those that would be of the other species too. Her main focus however was to both have ideas for a little gift and to halt this villainous deed against fashion. Though to play Tirec’s advocate, the poor knight seemed unaware of the heinous crime he was committing.

If she was to play guardian of fantastically sewn fabric then she’d need her uniform. She stepped off the stair case in her boutique, buttoning up her blue suit shirt. A black business skirt reached her knees, snug and wrapped at the waist by a white and purple striped belt. Her magic worked a comb through her mane, another working the elegant curl into her tail. Delicate hands pocketed her inspirational red glasses in her chest pocket.

“Sweetie Belle!” She called out. “I’m off to greet our new neighbour!”

“But Rarityyy!” The fashionista finished adjusting a sapphire bangle on her wrist before looking to the kitchen doorway, towards her pouting little sister. “You promised to teach me how to bake a cherry pie.”

‘One monumental impossibility at a time, darling.’

Her adorable and beloved younger sibling held her arms firmly crossed, stance cutely indignant, and bright olive eyes pointed at her. Sweetie Belle’s ears wilted, her soft purple and pink tail lashing against the air. She was still without a mark it would seem, a late bloomer but one that would eventually blossom she had been told time and time again. Her curled cotton mane bobbled as she started to march over. Rarity set her combs aside onto a nearby dresser with a nod of her horn.

“You always do this!” she squawked, her voice cracking a little. She was already past being hip tall and was likely due another growth spurt. Oh how the years go by.

With a wince at her forgetfulness, Rarity met her sister halfway across the boutique’s showroom. Kneeling down carefully, she rested a hand on her sibling's shoulder as snow would softly come to rest. The mopey young mare refused to meet her eye.

“It won’t be for too long,” she replied with a reassuring smile, “I’ll just pop over, take a few measurements, ask what designs he would like, and then I’ll be back here in the evening to help you bake. It’s plenty of time I promise.”

Sweetie looked up with her muzzle scrunched in that way all children quickly tired of arguing knew how to pull off. “Well, why can’t you wait until tomorrow?”

“Oh, believe me, something as bad as this cannot wait.” Rarity’s horn shimmered to life, a stylish bag soon moving from her sewing desk to beside her. “He needs my skills now more than ever.”

“But I need you.” Sweetie retorted with a stomp of her hoof. “You’re my sister. Who is he anyway?”

At this Rarity bit her lip, casting an unsure glance towards the door. How much should she say?

“He’s Twilight’s new guard, a knight and is a bit--“

“Does he have a green long coat, scaly chest, had a mask?”

“Why, yes, that’s—“

“Ser Vincent!?” Rarity was surprised by the sudden outburst, and shift in demeanour. The little filly perked up, ears and all, but her eyes quickly turned to concern.

“I take it you’ve met him?” Rarity asked with an arched brow.

“Yeah, me and the crusaders met him at the train-station a while ago. Applebloom said he was a knight, and we thought that was cool, so we went over and…” She trailed off and rubbed her cheek. “We know he’s not a pony but he looked hurt, like, he had cuts on his face and looked tired. Like you after making the spring collection. The, um, tired part anyhow. Is… is he okay now?”

“I believe so,” Rarity said with a small smile, squeezing Sweetie’s shoulder. “He’s just settling in and I wanted to make sure he felt welcome.” As she stood up she failed to notice Sweetie’s contemplative expression. In turn, the little sister missed the elder’s slight frown, “That and because he desperately needs to throw out his old wardrobe.”

“Soooo… he’s lonely?” Her innocent inquiry came with a tilt of the head.

“Something tells me he doesn’t mind,” Rarity replied with a sad smile.

On the one hand it really wasn’t her business how he lived his life. On the other, was there a better reason to suggest he could live another? Ponyville was quite the friendly town, and despite his rather spectacular introduction, she was certain he’d warm to the locals. As slowly as Zecora did she’d wager. The big question, however, was could it crack that shell of his? She had no doubt he could play friendly with others but that was the façade wasn’t it? The mask, the gloves, the fake tail, the badge, it all made him a pony; it was the manipulation of his voice that soothed everypony’s nerves.

But without the mask he was brutally honest in expression, one that could conflict with what was said. She discovered that. Maybe he could sound and act like he felt a part of the community but that left her feeling uneasy knowing there was a chance he was brooding miserably beneath the mask. She doubted her friends, especially Twilight, would sit idly by as well.

“So if you’re going out, can I go hang out with the crusaders?” Sweetie interrupted Rarity’s trial of thought.

“Pardon?”

“Well you might be gone a while so I thought I could go play outside,” Sweetie said as she rocked back and forth on her hooves, hands behind her back, eyes to the ceiling. “Saves me being here… alone in your boutique… unsupervised.”

“Make sure you’re back before dusk,” Rarity immediately said, frightened by the alternative. She and her hovering sewing bag migrated to the door, the lady raising a finger as she rested her other hand on the door handle. “As soon as that sun touches the horizon I want you back here, young lady, are we clear?”

“Yes, Rarity,” Sweetie replied with a roll of her eyes.

“Good, otherwise I won’t help you bake two cherry pies, one for today and tomorrow.” Rarity could only smile at the expected wide-eyed grin of joy rapidly spreading across her little sister’s face. Like Hearth’s Warming morning by the tree and presents.

“I promise!”

“… This was rather sudden.” Still bewildered by the whirlwind that was an ambitious fashionista knocking on his door, Ser Vincent stood in the center of the downstairs living pace, arms apart and still in his armour and coat.

“I do feel as if I hadn’t helped out as much as I could whilst you were moving in,” Rarity replied, her focus concentrated through the red glasses on her muzzle, eyeing the coiling, yellow vines of tape spreading along the green branches that were his arms. “I mean, I did care for your more fragile and expensive personal effects, but on the whole I was put into a position I had little help to offer in.”

He was actually recalling how she charmed her way through the door, quicker than his mind could keep up with. Oh, and how she explained her reason for departure earlier, which bought her time to unleash a clipboard and quill, alongside lassoes of measuring tape to keep him rooted to the spot. But hey, it was rude to turn a lady away from the door after plans were made. Apparently even if he had no say in such plans.

“And I’m guessing Feng Shui is more your forte?” Ser Vincent remarked, turning his mask as he inspected his remodelled living room. It was a storm of magic and elegance, wherein furniture he hadn’t previously owned had moved from where they were tucked away into the corner. Lamps waltzed past the coffee table, which paired with the modern couch opposite the new fireplace, to which a pair of luxury padded armchairs sat on either side of.

Rarity arched a brow and looked up from where she was loosely measuring his broad shoulders. She too glanced around, finding no qualms with what she had done; perhaps she could swap the blinds for curtains, maybe she could try moving the emerald rug to the bottom of the stairs. A silver wine rack would look divine on the marble countertop of the kitchen but she had to make do with what she had.

“Design, dear heart, offers so many branching specialties,” she commented, turning back with a smile, “But we all have one true talent, no?” He looked back to her, mindful of how close the muzzle of his mask was to her as the scent of lilac seeped in.

“More of a ‘find a purpose’ kind of stallion,” he retorted as he returned to facing forward. “Rarity, I have to tell you, although I appreciate the offer and what you’re trying to do… whatever you do design for me I’m not going to wear outside.” He shrugged his shoulders making her pause, drawing her attention to the poor patchwork on his right side. “I’m content with this for when that need arises.”

Rarity released a deep sigh, the accumulation of annoyance at measuring over another outfit being vented. The long coat meant measurements were at best semi-accurate, and she was as of yet to determine how the thick the armour actually was. She inhaled, finding the air around the knight lightly scented with musk and spice. Rarity laid a hand flat against his chest and cast her eyes to the side. As if she were trying to glance past him but found his forearm was still in her view. It twitched, his hand coiling stiffly as he fought against some now obvious discomfort. He likely still had that minimal contact policy that was certainly only nullified when necessary. Immediately she gripped his lapel between her finger and thumb, giving it a small tug.

“Ser Vincent, I am aware of how much you value your privacy,” she started with her eyes searching for his, “Though I don’t completely understand your reasoning for going to this extent to hide yourself, I know you do indeed have a slight penchant for casual clothing. Clothes for around the house, it is a nice way to relax, believe me, I know.” With her magic, she slipped her tape around his lithe waist, tightening a band around the scaled armour. It was startling close to muscle anatomy, configured in a way to give semblance to a well toned abs. “I can’t imagine how stressful it must be for somepony of your disposition to be stationed away from home.”

“It’s tedious things, really,” he began indifferently, “I’ll need a place to maintain my physical condition, find the right foods, and organise a way to ship ingredients for my potions, just to name a few.”

He had a few answers for these: early or late night runs, obtaining personal fitness equipment and weights, and going through a courier service for deliveries of his alchemy supplies. Heck, he could go through the royal guards. Nutrition was an issue, largely because although fish was a pegasus delicacy, pork was not for any species of pony. He needed a lot of protein, and though a careful vegan diet helped, a boost here and there was welcome. Also the ponies easily getting into his personal domain was another issue.

Rarity’s ear twitched at what he must have assumed would be a quiet sigh.

“I’ve been stationed away before, Rarity, I’ll find a natural daily rhythm that suits me soon enough.”

She wasn’t certain if she could believe the optimism in his voice but could foresee him stuck in a rut as long as he’s here. “So long as you know that my friends and I are more than willing to help with anything, Ser Vincent.” Her eyes lingered on his belt and the squared pocket pouches neatly packed with unknown items of untold magical properties. “I’m certain with our help you can be a part of—Ah!”

Her mind exploded with inspiration, her squeal startling the knight as she stepped back and took the hovering clipboard and quill into her hand. “Idea!” she sung.

Once again Ser Vincent found himself particularly wary of this mare: she was the an eccentric fashion designer that not only made house-calls, something he wasn’t aware her occupation entailed, but also proved to be as unrelenting in her pursuits as mantacores were in hunting. It was with this train of thought that he found himself feeling a rock drop from his heart to his gut, his flight instincts starting to kick in.

“Here!” She suspended the clipboard before him, “What do you think?”

It looked to be an incredibly frivolous version of his belt, with less pockets and more jewels and loops. Squared gemstones stamped the spaces between the ornately buttoned pouches and there were metal rings with potions suspended from them—the centrepiece was a kite shield buckle.

‘Somehow I don’t think I’m the swashbuckling roguish knight, as devilishly handsome as I am.’ It would certainly be an artistic addition to his get-up but the decrease in storage capacitiy for his alchemical tricks and the addition of snag-able rings made it more of a downgrade. That’s assuming the materials used were to satisfaction, meaning they needed to be suited for inhospitable environments. Of course he’d need to break the news to her in a more polite manner.

“It’s wonderful but...” he only had to glance to her hopeful expression to start back peddling, “I was under the impression you were going to make a shirt or a pair of pants, something I can wear around the house.”

“Ah,” she replied in understanding, “Very well, I’ll put this one on hold then.” She took back her design, her expression souring as she took a second glance. “Oh dear, where in Equestria did I ever get the impression that rings were a good idea? And amethyst? Ugh.” She flipped the page over, double checked the measurements with the quill feather to her lip, and then turned to clean page.

“So is there anything else you’d like?” She asked over her red glasses. “Colours? Materials? Secret pockets for emergency supplies in your pyjamas?” Her jest earned a huff of amusement. 'Stop the presses, it does appear that one can bleed a stone.' A playful smirk grew as she looked back to her clipboard, her magic sending the tapes slithering back into the bag on the coffee table.

“Green and gold,” he replied as he walked over to the door. She took a double take, not at the suggestion but at the fact that she would be leaving so soon. “Definitely earthly hues, though.”

Slightly off guard at her sudden impending departure, she moved to follow him, still smiling. She had hoped to stay for a quick chat at least, to prod for further details for her designs and of the knight himself.

“Sounds like you’ve taken some consideration into your appearance,” she said as she jotted his preferences down. “I’ll admit, I’m curious as to origin of the mask et al.” She noticed how he froze briefly with his hand on the door handle. She counted the heartbeats that passed before he mechanically turn to look back to her, as if moving out of a petrification spell.

“I listened to what the world wanted knights to be.” He spoke with a flat, empty tone. His soft baritone chilled in the air, as cold as the mountain stone. “And, Miss Rarity… I wasn’t enough.” He opened the door and gestured towards the overgrown garden. “I tried the polished armour and friendly smile once, and you wouldn’t believe the difficulties. Now? A flash of the badge and a kind enough voice, a few warm words and respectable disposition are more than enough to outweigh a sightly woodland outfit.”

She strolled along, stepping out but turning around to face him, her eyes staring intently towards his mask.

"I'm more than content to wear this outfit in order to get the job done as smoothly as possible."

“You can change that, you know?” she 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? Stop by later tonight and I’ll have a few designs and maybe a shirt or two ready.”

“I’ll more than likely be sorting out the rooms to this house, seeing to my new lab.” He replied, leaning into the door frame with his arms folded. He was closing himself off, something he tried to and failed when she first knocked. "Probably get a lock fitted on the door, as well as a peep hole."

“Then tomorrow?”

“I’m hoping to get started on a request I was given to produce seventy ice-head arrows tips; I volunteer to supply some of the guards and knights from time to time, depending on their potion crafting needs. The Equestria Games are coming soon and in turn are bouts of practice no doubt.”

“The day after?” Rarity pressed with a growing scowl, a hand removing her glasses and holding them against her hip. She tilted her head.

“Rarity, please, don’t for one moment believe I have wasted your time,” he said whilst raising a hand. He looked away from her and to Ponyville, not quite at his doorstep but still a five minute walk away. “It’s just… nevermind.” He shook his head before inclining it towards her in a polite bow. “I’m a knight first and foremost, I go where I’m needed, never where I’m wanted. Good bye, Rarity.”

Yet, she noted how he didn’t shut the door on her, how he simply stared back with that empty blank mask. She raised her head, a soft smile creeping onto her muzzle.

“You’re biggest mistake, Ser Vincent, is to assume that Ponyville will never want you here.” She slipped her ivory arm through the shoulder strap of her bag, turning slightly on the spot. “It just takes time. I’ll see you soon.” With that she sauntered down the overgrown path, tail lashing once as he closed the door.

Some time later he leaned over the kitchen counter without his mask and without his hooded long coat, appearing to be quite the imposing draconic figure hunching over a cup of tea. His father said it was his British lineage that made him like his brews on the milky side and with two sugars. Vincent thought it was because coffee upset his stomach.

He brought the hot drink to his lips with pony-gloved hands, eyes roaming over his redesigned living room. It was certainly packed with more furnishing than he was expecting; the expensive and plush couch with neatly arranged pillows, facing the unlit stone fireplace. 'I guess Blueblood found out that I always wanted one of those.' Pictures now donned the walls, none of which were originally his, all of which depicting prestigious landmarks across the country. He did travel so he thought it was a nice touch.

He planned to simply keep the unnecessary furnishing tucked away until he could fit them in the basement, maybe keep the table and rich chestnut armchair out for dining purposes, but Rarity had changed that. Now the place looked ready to live in, to settle in, and almost fit to have guests over. Now that was something far-fetched. After all, it was only ever Blueblood and his parents that ever visited him in his room.

‘By the Fates, I’ll be with lace doilies and tea parties before the week's out. Need to keep my guard up.’

He had to find a way to prevent solitude from becoming isolation, so maybe having a fully furnished living area was a step in the right direction. He could spend a few evening reviewing notes and formulas by the fireplace, something he couldn’t do before, maybe take a book or two from the library his new royal charge lived in. It was a public library, right? If not then it was certainly too soon to ask for such a privilege.

A harsh bout of knocking came from the door, and immediately he made a grab for the mask he kept nearby. Swiftly he put it on and made for the door, stealing his coat from the wall-mounted hanger. With his hood up and the eyes of his mask shadowed, he opened the door…

To be met with nopony being there.

He leant forward and out of the door frame, looking left and right and seeing nothing but neighbouring houses and shops in the rural parts of the town. The thought occurred to look up but by now they surely would have—

“Hi!”

A young, girlish chirp drew his attention down. It was then that shadowed malachite eyes met a bright jade pair, both exchanging a sense of familiarity with what they saw: to her, a scaled behemoth, for him, a white fluff ball of childish compassion and concern. Only this time she was smiling.

“You probably might not remember me, but we met at the train-station the last time you were here, with Scootaloo and Apple Bloom?” She offered a cute curtsy. “I’m Sweetie Belle!”

“And I’ve just about had enough for one day.”

Chapter Three

“So, um, welcome to Ponyville!” Sweetie abruptly cried, her enthusiasm growing like her beaming smile.

Vincent leant into the doorway and tilted his head to the side as he studied the small ivory curiosity before him. He thought she was familiar in some way and of course it had to have been the one time he lost his mask. Strange, most children would have given him a miss if they knew him after the shattered illusion. Then again, most fillies and foals haven’t been raised into modern Equestrian adults; they were yet to cement the boundaries of “another species” and “monsters”.

It was just childish intrigue.

“Thank you.” He nodded his skewed head forward, voice lukewarm but appreciative. “It was nice of you to visit.” His formalities were automatic, his mind not-so fondly recalling his first day in Ponyville and the station. Weren’t there two others?

‘Little Miss Apple Bloom.’ Miss Applejack’s younger sibling! And then there was the tangerine filly, too.

“I’m sure Apple Bloom and Scootaloo would want to say hello too, but Apple Bloom’s not back from Zecora’s and Scootaloo’s behind on her homework,” the little unicorn continued, tilting her own head to keep in orientation with his. “You remember them?”

“Oh, I remember a lot from that day, don’t you worry about that.” Vincent’s head shifted back to its natural position and Miss Sweetie Belle copied. “It was lovely to meet you again, Miss Belle, but I have to-“

“Wait!” Sweetie interrupted as Vincent stepped back into his home. “Aren’t you going to invite me in?” Though she could express her confusion clearly, Vincent’s was completely hidden by the mask. “How else am I going to get to know you?”

“And why, pray tell, would you want to do that?” Ser Vincent inquired, looking through the half closed door.

“Isn’t that what you do when you welcome a pony?”

“Not necessarily,” he replied with a faintly-rustling shrug. “You could just say hello, as you would greet a passing friend in the street.”

She crinkled her muzzle at the notion, staring at him as if he had claimed the sky was blue because it was painted that way every morning. “I don’t know. It doesn’t seem friendly.” She scratched behind her ear, glancing off up to a cloud. “I mean aren’t you suppose to tell me your name?” She refocused as he stepped back out, looming twice her size until he knelt down before her.

“Ser Vincent Costello, of the Solaris Knight’s, a pleasure,” he said with recited grace, extending an upturned palm.

She tried to peek into the eyes of the mask, finding something glistening like jade-stone in the dark. Immediately she place her small three-digited pony hand into his, the gloved appendage gently enveloping hers.

“Sweetie Belle,” she said with a raised snout and regal voice—she did want to be a lady like her big sister after all, “of, um, the Cutie Mark Crusaders.” She offered an anxious giggle as he briefly cocked his head again. He offered a nod before lightly shaking her hand. “Charmed.”

“Well, Miss Belle, I thank you for taking time out of your day to welcome me to my new home,” he replied as he rose back to full height. “Good day.” He barely turned before she reached out and gripped the skirt of his long coat. It stopped him dead.

“Soooo… can I come over?” she asked sweetly.

He reached back and carefully removed her hand from his coat before turning to face her. “You’re rather keen on this, aren’t you?” He leant down, mask slightly askew, hood still obscuring the rest of him as he stared her down. “Why?” His words were neither warm nor cold; he didn’t wish to frighten or intimidate the child, but at the same time, he wanted her to know he was starting to lose patience. He arched back when her hooves started to fidget nervously on her toe and she shied away from eye contact.

“Because…” She mumbled the rest, offering a shrug.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t catch that.

“Because you seemed…” Again, her words died with her volume.

“One more time,” he said softly. She was trying, no need to be too harsh. She then looked up to him with bright eyes.

“Because you seem lonely the last time I saw you.” She kicked the ground and offered a meek shrug, ears wilted. “You looked hurt and you sounded like you didn’t want anypony talking about you not being a pony. So I thought that with you just getting here you wouldn’t have that many friends and…”

He saw her determination, her resolve, dissipate as she gaze up to his stoic mask. Miss Belle’s tail hung limp, the weight of disappointment weighing it and her down as she sighed and lost her smile. “I’m sorry for bothering you like this, I shouldn’t stick my muzzle where it doesn’t belong.” She offered a meek curtsy, head hung low. “Pardon my rudeness. Bye.”

He watched her turn and leave. Unbeknownst to her, he brought a hand to his neck to try and massage away his sense of sudden discomfort, his head raised high. ‘She just wants to get to know her neighbour.’ He wasn’t lonely, or rather, he hasn’t felt lonely in years but he did feel as if not humouring this little filly would stain his pride in some way. A low growl escaped being muffled, soon silence by an exasperated sigh as he hung his shaking head. ‘Give them an inch and they’ll take a mile.’

He looked up to see her at the end of the path, his mind made up as soon as he saw her defeated form.

‘A knight first and foremost, in the field and out of it.’

“Excuse me, Miss Sweetie Belle?!” he called, earning her surprised attention. He stepped aside, opening the door. “I’m rather busy, but I may have time for a quick tour and a piece of pie.” It warmed him to see a smile erupt on her muzzle as she cantered back down the path. “Let’s be quick about this, though, I’d like some rest.”

“What kind of pie is it?” she asked, excitement spilling out of her voice.

“The supreme flavour of all, banoffee,” he replied with mirth as she crossed the threshold.

“Actually, I think you’ll find that cherry pie is the best flavour of pie,” she retorted as she cleaned her hooves on the entrance mat, giggling at the end from the slight ticklish sensation.

“I have to disagree; cherry pie is most certainly not the best flavour.”

“Uhuh.”

“Nuhuh.”

“Is so.”

“Is not…”

The alchemy lab door was too easy to open in his humble opinion. Though he was certified to handle any accident that could possibly occur whilst crafting with liquid magic, experimenting with new formulas could lead to any number of unexpected results. Explosive being on the bottom his worry list.

He stepped through and held the door open as his little guest followed, eyes peering here, there, and everywhere.

“You have your own laboratory?” she asked, mildly impressed.

“It’s not quite a complete clinical lab,” he replied with a shrug and a smirk to his voice, “Still waiting on the NMR machine and arcana infusing powderiser for Hearth’s Warming day.” He chuckled to himself, ignoring her confused glance back to him. With a shake of his head, he closed the door, briefly pondering what the electricity bill for such devices would amount to.

Sweetie Belle dismissed it and returned to scanning the room. It was different from Princess Twilight's. Before her were three walls lined with things of interests; to the left, glass cabinets and reinforced draws of ingredients and chemicals vials; in front of her, a worktop spanning the wall with sinks built in; to her right, wooden desks and intrinsic vials and beakers, and stranger devices, all freshly cleaned. A few unpacked crates sat close to the door, otherwise the floor was completely clear. She was drawn to all sides, peering at this strange artefact before peeking into that odd device.

“So are you some kind of super scientist?” she asked, migrating towards a few glistening knick-knacks by the supply side. She looked back as his heavy steps signalled his movements, Ser Vincent huffing in amusement.

“No, nothing of the sort, although I have had three alchemical journals published,” he remarked with pride. They were short pieces, and optional when he was earning his degrees, but having them under his belt made him irrefutable as he ascended the ranks to his knighthood. They were marks of respect in his specialised fields, and that left him more than content. “Found a few new plants too in my travels.”

“I bet it’s fun getting to travel across Equestria. Mom and Dad like going on vacation,” Sweetie replied, her eyes honing onto an assortment of filled vials on the counter.

“Usually it’s because something’s up to no good and I’m needed to give it a stern talking to.” Ha. He wished. He was infamous to most criminals, either feared or respected for not being an easy foe, that’s besides being a knight. A few give up the chase, and he was sure to treat them as gently as he could in apprehension.

Such notion tended to vanish when they tried to freeze him to the spot after several failed ice blasts.

“Alchemy… so you only make potions?” Sweetie Belle reached out for a wide, thin beaker, the label crudely depicting a dragon with a roaring flame. She heard him scoff as she held up the luminescent orange potion “What’s this one do?”

“It’s called dragon’s breath, care to guess what that means?” he retorted as he took hold of the corked beaker. Just makes potions? Sure it wasn’t as flashy as unicorn spells, but the practice, the science, nay, the artistry in making spells dormant and in a physical state until applied was something rarely achieved with mages and wizards. The closest things these sorcerers had to this was rune crafting, and to be honest, alchemists could do that too through alchemy as well.

“Does it make you breath fire?!” She practically squawked, tail lashing and bright eyed. “No way!”

Ser Vincent smiled smugly beneath the mask, his voice warming as he tilted his hooded head to inspect the potion in hand. Not the glass itself or its contents, but as if to contemplate the idea bubbling in his mind.

‘A quick test, then that’ll do. She can leave after this.’ He secured the potion in one of his belt pockets.

“All you do is take a little sip, breathe in, and blow out, like snuffing out candles on a birthday cake.” Though sounding simple, he put a lot of work into ensuring no moisture was lost in the lungs and throat, and that the mouth wouldn’t be singed black as the flame came roaring out. It wasn’t his formula but it was improved a touch, and that’s what he mostly did in his spare time: slightly improve recipes, in cost, preparation, or efficiency.

“Can I try?” Her innocent request was met with a quick shake of the head.

“Sorry, Miss Belle, too dangerous.” He moved along the cabinets, ignoring her pout for the moment. “Though you can play with this for a while.”

That perked her up. He began to rustle through numerous cabinets, muttering to himself in scorn after opening numerous draw. “Aha, there you are,” she heard him say as he removed a wooden box. He flipped the lid, and to her surprise, it separated into a three-tier platform chest, his gloved hands looting the small cubicles of odd looking gemstones.

“Hmmm, this will do,” he commented before take one out and holding it before her between the finger and thumb. It was a spherical citrine-gemstone, rather dark except for an odd mystical light in the centre. “Why don’t you wave it around a bit? Start slow then get faster and faster.”

So she did, at first taking the gem with hesitation, but soon after following the instructions, was partially awe-struck. At first she thought it was just a trail of yellow due the blurring of the gem as she moved it back and forth, but then she saw a spark. She quickened the pace and saw it: fiery trails of orange tailed by a magical yellow streak.

“Wow!”

“Try writing your name.” Ser Vincent suggested with an upturned palm before folding his arms and leaning onto the supply drawer counter. It wasn’t long before, in neat cursive, too, that the name ‘Sweetie Belle’ was floating in sun-gold letters. But just as quickly as it came, the magic dissipated in with a twinkle.

“That’s amazing! What is it?” she inquired with a broad smile, eyes glued to the impromptu writing instrument.

“It’s a wind light,” Ser Vincent started in a scholarly manner, moving to the door, “The gem itself is hollowed out and filled with a special dust that brightens in the presence of magic, whilst the outside of the gem is coated with a resin that reacts well with the air to give off magic. A tweak here and there, and what you have is a gem stone that glows when encountering wind resistance.”

Upon arriving he turned to find Sweetie Belle blinking owlishly at him. He was about to explain further until understanding struck her.

“Is that like when you’re running and the winds in your face and mane?”

“Why yes it is.”

She frowned in thought, regarding the gem with a curious look. “So it glows when you throw it? Why’s this useful?”

“Um, it’s a stone that glows when moving fast enough through the air,” he finished with a lame rub on the back of his hood. “Some units in the military have arrows tipped with these gems so that they can signal one and other across the land, or in a forest at night. They can also be made to glow brighter at slower or faster wind speeds, and can even last for hours lit up.”

“I think it’s pretty, can you get it other colours and shapes?” She asked as he opened the door, steadily moving towards Vincent as she held the gem towards him with a beaming smile. “I’m guessing the arrow ones are more arrow-like.”

“You can use any shape you want, and any colour too.” He declined the faintly glowing orb as she tried to return it, pushing it back to her before putting his hand on the back of her shoulder. “Keep it. I’ve got plenty more and they’re easy enough to make.”

“Really? Thanks!” She said before stepping out into the hall.

“Okay, so now that you’ve seen what I do are you satisfied?” Ser Vincent asked her. He pondered on what else there was to do as she looked to the ceiling in thought—she knew he was an alchemist, that he was a knight, what else was there to it? He certainly wasn’t going to show her his room; he doubted The Wall, as he dubbed the heavily tacked map of Equestria, would distract the filly from the mess in his room.

“You said there’d be pie.”

He managed to stop himself from attempting to rub his eyes through his mask, barely mind you.

With so much poise that even her big sister would be jealous, Sweetie Belle elegantly devoured her slice of banoffee pie, savouring its sweet flavour with every over-sized spoonful. She sat on the couch, her hooves merrily bouncing as she swung her legs between herself and the coffee table. When she wasn’t in eye-shut bliss she was glancing around the room, at the hung pictures, and the sun slipping through the closed blinds, before settling on the knight where he sat in the armchair by the fireplace with his arm folded.

“Aren’t you going to have a slice?” she asked after a mouthful. He waved her off.

“Not really hungry right now.” He could see where this was going: questions about how he eats with the mask on. The answer? He couldn’t – he simply didn’t like eating with others. It would be best to switch subjects before she finished with her next bite. “So is there anything else you’d like to ask? Anything your friends might want to know, that you can pass on… save the trouble of them visiting?”

At this, he noticed how Miss Belle shrunk with hesitation, her eyes slipping away from his general direction briefly. When they returned she set the spoon neatly beside her snack.

“If you don’t mind me asking, can I, uh, ask what you are?” She fidgeted in her seat, Vincent remaining silent and statuesque. “I mean, besides a knight, because Apple Bloom couldn’t quite remember what Applejack, her big sister, said you were, and now the whole school hasn’t settled on what to call you.”

Of course, three young fillies would obviously be attending school and thus news would spread to there. Children whisper amongst themselves and take these half-accurate stories home to their parents, and the cycle repeats amongst their peers. No wonder most of the town was wary of him.

“And what exactly do you all call me?” Ser Vincent inquired with mirth rising in his voice. He crossed his legs and rested his head on his gloves knuckle, elbow sinking slightly into the armrest. This should be amusing.

Sweetie fiddled with her thumbs for a moment. “Some of the colts said that their moms and dads saw you as a pink ogre, and Twist said you were a bald minotaur.” She then frowned at her next few words, “And Diamond Tiara and Silver Spoon keep calling you a monster.”

‘Not too far off.’ He thought before speaking up. “And what do you and your friends call me, Miss Belle?”

“Well, Apple Bloom, Scootaloo, and me call you a humming.” She blinked in surprise when she was met with a warm chuckle.

“Hmmmmmmmm, and did I, or do I, hum? Hmmm?” She giggled a little at that, a good thing too. Sure he wanted to get this over and done with, but he didn’t need to be rude or intimidating, nor should he leave her feeling uncertain and scared. “I guess…”

He trailed off, reconsidering telling her what he was. Whatever he says will more than likely end up in the school, and once again, back to the adults of the town. Did he really need them all confirming that he was a human, not a pony under all this amour and fabric? Then again, what use was there going to be in supporting the broken illusion that he was still a pony? And what was a human to them anyhow? He was one of three on the planet, so the name itself had no shape to it. Wearing his attire still made him easier to approach, if anypony was going to anyhow.

And yet, so far, six mares had plus a little filly.

“I’m called a human,” he admitted, with the difficulty one would have when clearing their throat. He patted his chest, “Like ‘hue’ from humid and ‘man’ from mantra. Human.”

“It’s better than humming, that’s for sure.” She said with another giggle, to which he offered an amused huff. “So where are you from?”

“Canterlot, born and raised.” He gestured to her. A bit of back and forth seemed to loosen her up. “And yourself?”

“Oh, I live nearby, on Mulberry lane.” She picked up her plate, with her hands he noted, and dug her spoon into the pie. “You sound a bit like Pip Squeak though, only a little.”

“Is he from Trottingham?” He earned a nod from her. “Mum and dad say they come from a place like that, they didn’t lose the accent until recent years so I guess I picked it up.” And that story’s another dragon all on its own. He didn’t want to waste time on that. “Anything else you’d like me to clear up before you leave?” He straightened back up, leaning forward slightly.

She brought another tasty bite to her maw, chewing it in thought. She mustered some courage, her ears wilting as looked to him with hesitation.

“Um, are you a monster?” Well she managed to get it out without stuttering and without terror in her eyes—she seemed more curious but considerate towards his feelings. Not that this was anything new. “Like, minotaurs.”

‘Worse than a minotaur I’m afraid. Yet to be bested by one.’ He tilted his head, absentmindedly bring his hand the mask’s chin in thought. ‘Though I always wondered if being the child of dimension hopping aliens means anything to me… title wise anyhow.’

“I don’t like to think so, do you?”

She vigorously shook her head. “No way! You’re too nice to be a monster.”

“But you thought you would double check, right?” He chuckled again at her sheepish grin.

“I just want to tell Apple Bloom that-“ Abruptly she gasped, her eyes lighting up in a way he was oddly familiar with. He couldn’t quick put his finger (his actual human finger that is) on why it was so, but the way she beamed at him sent a reflexive chill down his spine. “You have to meet my friend Apple Bloom and-and Zecora!”

She looked ready to burst, like a shook up carbonated beverage, but quelled her excitement to politely set aside her now empty plate. She reached for the napkin he’d provided, which Miss Pi… Pinkie Pie had supplied, and quickly dabbed her maw for crumbs and cream. Then she jumped to her hooves.

“They make potions too!” She said whilst skipping towards him, “Well, Zecora’s a shaman, I think, and can make potions whilst Apple Blooms likes to watch and help out whenever she visits.” She came to stand beside him with a childish sweet smile that almost gave him a tooth ache. To soothe it, he rested the jaw of his mask in his palm, leaning away from the filly towering over the armrest. The forearm she placed her hands to support herself stiffened, the gloved hand tightly gripping the end of the rest.

“Would it be okay if I brought Apple Bloom over so you can talk about potions and stuff? She’s been trying to get into it but Zecora says all her potions are too difficult for her to try on her own. You can tell her where to start, right?” She seemed awfully enthusiastic about this and that left him a tad wary.

“Hold on, I’m a knight, not a teacher.” Vincent was stern, his arm twisting to loosen her support and make her back down off the armrest, in turn, him. “I can’t guarantee I’ll be here all the time, and besides, I shouldn’t be wasting my alchemy supplies on a young novice when they are crucially important to my work.”

She shirked away and the childish glee faded like a dying light. He folded his arms and looked to the front, rather than pointing the emotionless mask directly at her. “I’m sorry, Miss Belle, but I don’t have time to be pony-person, and sadly, that involved tutoring the charming Miss Apple Bloom.”

There was a silence for a while; words died at the throat beside him, the atmosphere thickening like a choking fog, and regret settling it ugly head beside his. ‘Was that too harsh?’ it would ask with a knowing grin, ‘because that seemed too harsh.’ He ended the awkwardness with a loud sigh.

“I apologise f-“

“You know, Zecora had trouble at first too,” Sweetie Belle started with an oddly mature voice for one of her age. Needless to say he turned his attention back to her, finding the little white unicorn staring at his gloved hand. “She hid herself because she was different, under a hood, and everypony was scared of her. Turns out, she wasn’t really scared but everypony else was because she was different.”

She looked back up to him, and he could swear, that her fresh jade eyes found his stone-green ones even through the mask.

“She was just as zebra,” she said with a shrug, “a really kind and smart and mysterious zebra that we got to know and welcome into town. She just wanted a few things for her home in the forest but we all hid away from her.” She smiled and stepped back, “She made a ton of friends too.”

“A zebra looks like a pony whilst I don’t.” He retorted coldly. “And, for whatever reason beyond my comprehension, I somehow didn’t give off the right impression when I protected this town.” Seriously, he fended off a band of marauding ogres as a knight should, what was the deal with this town?

“Well, Zecora always kept herself hidden under a hood so ponies were scared of her at first, and to be honest, your mask isn’t really helping.” She once again shrugged, not meeting him in the eye this time. “Just saying, it’s just silly now.”

‘Kid. Don’t go there.’

“I’m pretty persuasive with this get-up. And I’m happy for this Zecora, I…”

Hold on a moment. Zecora’s a shaman? Now that was something interesting. His tutor had trained with a shaman, and his time in Zebrica rewarded him with scores of formulas to try, all from shamans he’d gained the trust of.

“Hey, why don’t we head over to Zecora’s right now?” Sweetie’s squeaky burst derailed his trail of thought, her demeanour turning bubbly again. She tapped him on the arm. “She can tell you all about getting to know the town! She’ll be a big help and you can talk about potion stuff, like cauldrons and smelly goo and all kind of icky things.”

‘Ah. So this Zecora is a traditionalist.’

“I’d rather not be a bother, Miss Belle, and I’m rather busy.” With all the relaxing he was planning on doing from the stress of today he was fully booked.

“But she could tell you about all the magic plants that she makes her potions out of in the Everfree!” she whined, implanting another curious thought.

If the forest that everypony in town were so keen to avoid was fully of mystical herbs and magical agriculture then that would be a bonus. He could probably look after himself as he did a bit of scouting, plus days away from the town whilst off duty did seem enticing. Especially if he could replenish stock without paying for it and waiting days for supplies to arrive. The longer he pondered on the prospect of a forest so close by, and filled with magical flora, the more his trepidation to this trip ebbed away.

“Please give it a try,” she pleaded, an act that concerned him. Sweetie looked to him with light worry, a bright optimism subdued by a fear that Ser Vincent would decline again and again. She really didn’t want him to feel lonely here; he seemed nice when you get to know him.

“Fine,” he said with a wavering voice. He then immediately winced at her giddy cheer. With an excited skip she bound to the door, an eager grin on her muzzle. He simply turned his hooded head, unknowingly smiling a little under the mask.

“Let’s go, I know the way.”

“Pardon me but didn’t you say it’s dangerous in that forest.” He rose from the chair, popping his shoulder as he rolled it. He glanced to her too see Sweetie waving him off.

“It's fine if you know the way, trust me!”

Chapter Four

Leaves and twigs crunched beneath Vincent’s boots, releasing an earthly scent into the air, strong enough to be detected through the mask. Gnarled and twisted pillars of bark supported a thick canopy of emerald leaves, brushing up against a bleak evening sky. Orange filtered through, he noted, his gaze falling from the obscured heaven and to activities of the forest.

A few insect buzzed by, a birdsong ending after a fierce, hawkish screech; the Everfree evidently was not a welcoming place. Cruel fallen branches reached out from the ground like avenging woodland spirits, a few more animals scurried along, selfish and inattentive to the two had been wandering by.

The Everfree was part of a strange group known as ‘Untouched Land’: self-governing, self-sustaining, disharmony ridden, and generally scorned pieces of land seemingly disconnected from the rest of the world. Areas covered sizes from street length to jungle-sized horizons of spaces where there was no authority nor magical guidance present.

For every single living organism to flourish here it was simply survival at all cost under the whims of the Fates.

Ser Vincent was probably one of the few that never felt the supposed disconnection that most would shiver and complain about. If anything he felt connected to these places better than in any civilised land. You had to be strong here, in mind, spirit, and body, so Vincent felt right at home. His parents explained how their entire world was just this: everlasting battle on an instinctual level to see the next day. And from where they hail from, his grand-motherland, as it were, humans were the apex predator.

Whenever Ser Vincent was in these lands, he made sure to live up to that when necessary.

“Almost there,” Sweetie Belle said from where she balanced upon a log. She walked along it with her arms out just before him, Vincent wary of the fact the fallen trunk was knee high to him.

“You’re the guide, Miss Belle, so I have to believe you,” Vincent remarked, glancing to the way they came. The long, curvy, turned-back-on-itself, way they came. ‘It’s not the first time I’ve had a guide that’s been almost there for forty minutes or so.’

“I’m sure it’s this way.” She looked back to him with a confident grin, a sight betrayed by her twitching tail and flattened ears. “I remember walking along this log with the girls before.”

‘You’ve been walking on every log we’ve passed.’

“If you say so.” Vincent looked deeper into the forest, though at this point, looking anywhere only revealed a dense collection of thin trees. All he knew about the forest was that the locals didn’t venture into here out of fear, and that a shaman could make a living with potions crafted from the flora around these parts.

“Ouch! Woah!”

Her squeak of surprise startled him. Ser Vincent snapped his attention to the little filly, finding her with arms flailing. The ground was hard here and the roots like stone. A brief flare of gold flashed in his eyes as he nimbly dashed over in a single stride, arms out. She fell into his open embrace, squinting up to her saviour.

“Are you okay?” he inquired, a residual wisp of golden mana drifting out the eyes of the mask.

“The tree poked me in my eye!” she grumbled as he set her onto her hooves, a small pout forming. She reached for her wound, wincing on contact. “You should arrest it!”

“Did you do anything to antagonise it?” he asked with mirth in his tone and a tilt of the head.

“No!” Her fierce defence was emphasised by the cute stomp of her hoof.

“You wouldn’t happen to have been disturbing its sleeping brother, would you?” A gesture to the log revealed a grouchy looking pattern in its bark, the face one makes when being forced awake early on the weekend.

“On second thought I’d like to drop the charges.” Sweetie quickly stated, able to open both eyes. Seemed fine. “Thanks for catching me, Ser Knight.”

“Careful, or I’ll have to escort you home if you keep disturbing the peace.” His warning was in jest and he was sure she picked up on it. More importantly, she got the message: stop trying to balance on the logs. The two continued their walk, Vincent noting how Sweetie kept looking back to him. “Is something the matter, Miss Belle?”

“I was just wondering why don’t wear a helmet?” The little unicorn continued speaking, looking around as she continued forward, hiding her uncertainty from the knight behind her.

“Didn’t get one in my size until after I got all this together,” Vincent remarked, tugging on his hood before tidying his sleeves.

“So what’s wrong with it then?” Okay, she knows that she’s seen that thorn bush before. As in today before.

“It wasn’t as effective as the mask and hood.” He replied as he came to her side, his gaze honing towards the center of the forest.

“Well, I was thinking, if you start looking more like a knight around here, then Ponyville’s gonna get used to you!” She explained, beaming up to him and awaiting his reaction. He seemed to quicken the pace and start walking particularly close to her, his attention focused onto the forest. Sniffing could be heard, his metal muzzle rising and falling.

“The visor reveals that I’m not a pony, the gauntlets almost peel my skin off whenever I grab my spear, and, frankly, it has a few modifications I am yet to have my knight commander permit.” He soon took the lead, turning on his heel and walking back. “Now, if you would be so kind as to keep your voice low and follow me.”

Perplexed but intrigued, the little unicorn followed him, growing worried at the way he kept looking back.

“Why? Do you know the way to Zecora’s.” Sweetie gave a confused frown, skipping along to catch up to him. Immediately he crouched down, grabbing her shoulder with one gloved hand and bringing a finger to his muzzle to shush her.

“We’re being followed, can’t you smell it?” He turned her around, pointing over her shoulder and towards the densest parts of the woods, amidst a collection of fallen, thick oaks and down canopies.

Unsure what to do, she tried getting a scent of forest air, finding it to be just that; crushed leaves and woodland wind, the aroma of a slightly damp ground, something fragrant and flowery, and something else foul altogether. It was faint until she noticed, the stench of a hundred decaying trees and swamp water originating from where they came.

“There’s something smelly, maybe?” She turned back to him, although was met with half his metal muzzle protruding over her shoulder, the knight’s sights focused on the path they had walked. “We’re in the Everfree, so it could be any… thing.”

Anything, the small child remembered, in the Everfree entailed a large collection of deadly beasts and hungry monsters. She tried to think of one that wasn’t able to gobble up small adorable children and she couldn’t think of one! Was it a manticore? A cockatrice? It was a cockatrice again wasn’t it? A small whimper escaped her as something moved, no, slinked and leaped by the fallen oak’s wolfish complexion, amber eyes peaking here and there. Ser Vincent gave her a gentle squeeze on her shoulder, pulling her back.

“Sweetie Belle, listen close: we’re going to hide in the warren nearby, under the tree behind us.” His calm voice was warm, her ear twitching as it soothed her nerves a little. He brought an arm around her and turned her around, his stare locked upon the stirring mound of oaks in the distance.

Contrary to popular belief, he could smell fairly well through the mask, not as well as without it, true, but he could smell a timber wolf when it was close enough. That was his first clue, the scent, his second being the trees the beast made itself out off—there were no oaks in this neck of the woods, so a fallen pile was suspicious enough.

The wolves were coming, barked bodies layered with moss, patches of bush and undergrowth. It was hard to see them but with the flicker of adrenaline gained from Miss Belle falling, startling him, he could distinguish the forest hounds not through sight but through their creeping movements.

“You see it?” He asked her, his long coat nearly enveloping her in its own protective embrace. “Not dead ahead, but under the tree leaning in?”

She could see it. Another thin tree with a large anchoring of roots had been shunned to the side, the bark depicting an angry outcry as the branches reached out. But under its footing was a large space, big enough for the both of them to slip under.

“Yes,” she managed, tail twitching and shoulder shrunk.

“Okay, I want you to run ahead,” he said. “Keep your head low.”

“What about you?” she asked, stopping to look up to him. Vincent still had his hand on her shoulder as he stood back up. He gave her a reassuring squeeze.

“I’ll make sure they don’t run right away, the fact that they’re not charging us means they haven’t found us yet. I don’t think they can tell me apart from the trees yet, but you? A little white pony wondering around in a green forest?” Her ears wilted but her gave her a pat on the head. “I’ll open my coat a bit, block their view, and you scamper into the warren where I’ll join you soon enough. We’ll hide them out.”

“What if they find us?” she asked, taking a reluctant step forward and away.

“They won’t.” he replied, warmly. He turned back to face the unknown number of wolves.

“But how-“

“They won’t.” His voice turned curt and cold, absolute like stone. He glance back to her, opening his coat wide. “Hurry.”

She took off, head down and her tail trailing into the ground. Her hooves pounded the dirt, embedding her presence. She gained a light pant, her breath accompanying the sound of leaves and grass crinkling as she quickly slipped into the dirty warren. Rarity isn’t going to like this. Then she waited. She heard naught but her childish breathes, an overhanging blade of long crass swaying in its path as she listened intensely. Bird song and wind.

A wild, blood curdling howl of a timber wolf shattered the serenity, heavy steps soon pounding their way towards her. She heard the earth be kicked up as the sky darkened, the light of the entrance disappearing as another joined her. Ser Vincent wasted no time in configuring space, exposing his forest green back to the world as he shielded the little filly. It made things rather cramped though.

She was smushed up against his chest, the plates sold against her cheek and the scent of spice tickling her olfactory sense. Also there was a root caught in her ear, driving her wild in agitation.

“My apologies for the lack of comfort, Sweetie Belle,” he whispered calmly and casually.

“Ipsfine.” She managed with half her maw pressed against his armoured chest. His arm thankfully prevent any more roots from digging into her back, though it wasn’t exactly a body pillow to be pushed against.

“Okay, now we have to be very quiet.” His timing could not have been any better; as if summoned, both heavy and light steps could be heard outside, in a great number too. Scratching and scuffling, growls and barks, at one point the tree shuddered, roots shedding their layer of dirt upon the hiding duo.

Then came the stench. A horrid, fetid odour of rot, decay, and festering meals caught between rows of splintering canines. Sweetie almost lost her lunch at the polluting aroma as it pooled in the small space, drowning both her and the knight in the foul of dead forest.

Vincent wasn’t faring much better but he could control his gags, and it was a good thing he had his mask—ever since becoming aware of how honest his expressions were beneath it, he had been newly accustomed to feeling his face twist and mould to reflect his feelings without his consent. He doubted Miss Belle would like to see him disgusted right now.

Large intakes of air were heard behind him. A large paw must have rest against the tree, the roots once again straining as the tree bent. It was sniffing for his scent or maybe it was Miss Belle’s? She smelt of raspberry and vanilla so maybe that’s what they had traced from her hoof prints he saw in the ground. The timber wolf’s sniffs were like someone breathing into a microphone and Vincent was next to the speaker… yep, this one was a very large, and likely the beast composed of all those fallen oaks he had saw.

He felt Sweetie Belle cling to him, her head resting under his masked chin, her horn slipping under the collar of his coat. She shivered in terror, her tail tucking under his cover as well. Neither dared speak but he wished he could offer her some reassuring words.

He wasn’t worried though and for good reason. His coat, alongside being fire retardant, helped throw off his scent to most animals. Though most ponies would still smell a faint spice. He was effectively blocking her fragrance from exposing them to the wolves. Another howl and the beasts were gone, thunderous strides nimbly carrying them off and away in less than a minute. A final cry of the timber wolf revealed they were some distance away, a safe enough distance for now.

With some difficulty they pair succeeded in evicting themselves from the warren, Sweetie Belle soon dusting herself from the thick layer of dirt.

“I do believe we should postpone today’s meeting,” he said, arms folded. There were no ways about it, they had to abandon their original plans.

“Maybe you’re right,” Sweetie admitted as she pulled a twig out of her mane. She looked disheartened, yet, relieved all the same. “I don’t get why Zecora wants to live here.” She turned to face the way they came, stopping with wide eyes at the massive paw print before her. She could lie in it and still not touch the edges. “Woah, how big do timber wolves even get?”

“They never grow bigger than the tallest tree in the forest,” he answered, looking deeper into the woods. “How long has Miss Zecora lived here?”

“I don’t really know,” she replied, a saddened look overriding the shadow of fear that once took her, “I really hopped you’d get along. You could talk about all the magical plants, like poison joke and heart’s desire, and other stuff.”

‘Those are some fairly expensive plants—one often pays extra for the convenience charges too.’ Hard to acquire and hard to find, you can’t buy these in bulk from Canterlot and if you wished to gain vast quantities of either species, then one traveled themselves to harvest them. Having such rare plants nearby was certainly a boon. ‘Maybe finding Zecora would also help eliminate any unwanted confrontations, but this should wait for another day.

“We can try again another day, when you’re certain you know the way,” he said, kneeling down to pick a ground bit of leaf of her shoulder. She smiled a little as he looked to her. “You do know the way, right?”

She couldn’t meet him in the eye, and when she did, another sheepish smile broke out.

“Um, no.”

‘I thought so.’ He kept the remark to himself and stood up, beckoning her to follow deeper within the forest. “Let’s go, it’s still not safe.”

“Further into the forest?” she asked with an arched brow.

“Timber wolves are a little different than most pack hunters: they have a rear pack, led by the beta wolf.” He started to explain, “They pick up stragglers the alpha miss, as well as hunt on their own. We need to hurry.” Ser Vincent turned back to her, “We should probably--“

--And saw another pack of wolves prowling towards them, freezing as the knight’s eyes met theirs. The beta was as big as an elephant. The sight alone was enough to make his heart jump.

“Run.”

He then grabbed Miss Belle and swung her over his shoulder much to her surprise. He launched forward and she unleashed a startled shriek, stopping when a loud howl echoed through the forest once again. Though having difficulty getting a good view, what with being carried over the shoulder of someone sprinting at phenomenal speeds, she managed to spot the pack bounding after her.

And then promptly screamed louder.

“Faster!” she wailed.

With his unnatural magic accompanying his adrenaline rush Ser Vincent was managing to maintain some distance between himself and the wolves. His heart raced, wisps of gold poured out of the eyes sockets of the mask, trailing alongside the dust and dirt he kicked up. He side stepped trees and avoided low hanging branches, though able to burst through them like rice paper, he didn’t wish to harm his passenger.

The world dimmed in colour, the edges defining to pronounce how close things were in relation to him. That’s how he was able to sprint at such incredible speeds and not hit anything, and when another animal hopped into his view, the fur of their coat sparked to life, brightening against the dreary landscape he was now seeing. He bound between trees, leapt over small streams, and skipped along fallen trees in his attempts to flee his pursuers.

“They’re catching up!” Sweetie Belle squawked from over his shoulder.

A separate set of howls echoed from his far right… the first pack had returned.

“No... not now.” Through his panting he muttered a curse, looking ahead at large stone wall, a small cliff opposite a small clearing. He leapt into the open space and with heightened mental functionality at his disposal he made us of it with every stride.

‘Too many wolves. Open space. Surrounded, eastward wolves picking up speed, overtaking imminent.’ He looked to the wall ahead, studying it broad form and incredible height. ‘Leap up approximately half way, cling on with both hands, impossible with filly in grasp.’ He was about halfway into the clearing, his steps avoiding scattered carcasses and rock deposits. ‘Wait. There!’

A narrow crevice splitting the face of stone, too narrow for a timber wolf to fit through, perfect for pony and a human to slip into though. With a goal insight and his mind sharp, the knight bound for the small sanctuary with fervour, only stopping to skid to a halt.

“Quick, Sweetie Belle, get in!” She wasted no time scampering inside, having to side step to fit in. Not that she was in the mood to complain: it was either the tight space between rock walls or a tight space between wolf jaws. At least didn’t smell as bad. She reached as far as she could, looking back to see Ser Vincent quickly joining her.

She heard the wolves skitter and slide, their barks and howls scaring her once again. She looked up to see open sky, trapped between the high edges of the cliff walls. Ser Vincent joined her minor scan of the surroundings, his gold eyes scanning every root and detail. The wolves were gnashing at the entrance, too broad to enter and their legs too short to paw at them. The pair panted, Vincent keeping the magic alive for as long as possible as he stared timber death in the eye.

“What do we do now?” Sweetie yelled, teary eyed as she looked up to the sky. “We’re trapped.”

He looked to her, seeing her try to console herself with her hands on her face. Rocks poked at her, the jagged surface she pressed herself to obviously hurting her. Just the look of her made the world stop in whole different way: she was trapped, she was terrified, and she looked to almost be in tears.

“I think this is enough,” Ser Vincent said to himself with conviction and a growl. He reached out to her, startling her on touch. The knight held her hand and spoke softly, “You know a knight’s weakness, don’t you, Miss Belle?”

“W-w-what?” she said through a stutter.

“A lady’s tears.” He gave her hand a little squeeze. “I can’t help if you start crying.”

She sniffled, a reflexive smile quickly vanishing as quickly as it came. Though trapped between a rock and a hard place, coincidently another rock wall, she managed to wipe her eyes.

“Why not? That just sounds silly.” She said, her voice still tinged with gloom. The wolves were still relentlessly digging at them, so her mood could hardly improve.

“Well,” he said with his head bouncing side to side, “if you start crying, then I’ll start crying, then you’ll cry harder, then I’ll cry harder, maybe a wolf would start crying, and then it will just be one big mess.” Though his voice was warm, his words laced with jest, his gut was both furious and terrified simultaneously, his mood dark rather than whimsical. Still, manipulating his voice like that had earned a little giggle. “Though seriously, it would hurt me if you started crying. The wolves can’t reach us.”

“But what do we do?”

He glanced back to the entrance, his heart sinking as a large amber eye, as big as a carriage wheel, peered through the gap. A beast of an alpha timber wolf awaited, his body soon disappearing as it slinked away, allowing those under its rule another chance to claw at them both.

He needed something to unnerve them, break the pack up, then he could try and dismantle them or even outright escape with Sweetie Belle in tow. But what could scare off an alpha that big? Its head must be the size of a carriage. Lightning would work, but looking to the sunset sky revealed not one cloud. He’d consider climbing up if he could fit through the narrow gap; Miss Belle could make it, but even if he distracted the wolves, she was as lost as he was right now.

‘Wait, what does lightning cause?’ He reached into his potion belt, finding a flask he had pocketed no too long ago. He knew he smirked beneath the mask as he glance to the little filly.

“Miss Belle, I have an idea and a question.”

She looked to him, a glimmer of hope and eagerness on her face.

“How good are you at burning things?” he asked, raising the dragon’s breath flask before her. It was time to prove his place on the food chain.

Chapter Five

“How’s your hoofing, Miss Belle?” With eyes faintly aglow and his heart rattling, he looked up to the brave little filly steadily scaling the wall. She squeezed through the gap above and looked down with a nervous smile.

“I think it’s good, I can do it.” She tightened her grip on the potion in her hand and rested, watching the knight slide out towards the waiting dogs.

“I’m counting on you,” he said, fiddling with his belt. Baiting himself closer to the wolves sent them wild, timber paws scraping the stone as he shuffled just out of reach. With him as their sole focus, Sweetie Belle could get a few more feat higher. She began her ascent, bottle neck between her teeth, her little heart racing as she gripped root and rock.

Ser Vincent had little space to work with but with his waist free he could lean back and work on a quick concoction. He pulled out a white vial filled with silver dust and a vial cork with a strip of metal ending with a silver bulb running through it, a copper ring where strip piece the cork. He replaced the cap on the vial with the pulling fuse. A quick tug and a spark flew, the bulb dropping off and glowing an angry red.

He waited two seconds exactly before tossing it over the wolves, actually chuckling when a wolf dove for it and swallowed it whole. The timber beast disappeared to the side before a loud pimf! was heard, followed by white cloud of smoke to appear around the entrance. The wolves soon began to wheeze and splutter, backing off momentarily. Chalk smoke was designed to irritate the lungs and was brief in existence, not to mention Ser Vincent only had the one white vial on him at the time. He hardly had time to restock his belt, what with moving around and his friendly neighbours visiting and what not.

“Here I go, Miss Belle, remember what I said?” He took one last look up to her, seeing that she was creeping up slower than he would have liked.

“Take a sip, then a deep breath, then blow out some candles where you are,” she reiterated as she had been explained.

He gave her a curt nod as he pulled out several small blue capsules and placed them in both hands. “Be swift, Miss Belle. We may yet take them all in one fell swoop.” With that he sucked in a lungful of air and backed out of the entrance, slamming his hands down on both lips of the crevice. He felt the blue capsules of goo cast crunch beneath his gloved palms. Froths of cyan exploded out from where he struck, goo connecting as he stepped into the white mist, soon solidifying to seal of the entrance. If any wolf were to try to seek the filly, they at least couldn’t distract her from the crevice entrance, and possibly scare her into a fall.

Ser Vincent idly twirled a vial of petrification in his right hand as he emerged from the dissipating smog, scanning his prey. He was on edge, blood coursing through with barely contained magic waiting to erupt and enhance his physical abilities, his nerves shaking him with fearfull anticipation.

The wolves that weren’t choking were beginning to circle, small fry but still dangerous. Seven plus the elephant sized beta stalking behind them. Another howl rung out, scattering birds in the forest they had been chased through and still surrounded them. The alpha was yet to make an appearance.

With that in mind he pocketed the petrification vial, sealing the pocket. He tilted his head up slightly.

“Sweetie Belle, wait for my mark, okay?!” His yell agitated the wolves as three approached.

“Got it!” He heard from behind.

He took a deep breath, inhaling in and exhaling out, gradually gaining speed. It helped work his heart harder, chest widening as he spread his arms.

“Come on, who’s first?” He beckoned. Two of the dogs took offence and bound towards him, their snarling teeth and amber eyes poised on the bearish figure before them. The glow to Ser Vincent’s eyes returned in full force, flaring with a strong gold as they leapt at him. The world slowed, the wolves’ bodies becoming saturated with brown and forest jade, whilst the background lost its colour. Though these figures moved at walking pace they shone brightly in his heightened vision, as did the slowly flanking timber wolves behind them.

He caught one by the throat but the other managed to latch onto the right shoulder, teeth struggling with the tough material of the coat. It pawed and clawed at his armour refusing to lose its grip. The caught hound squirmed, hind leg beating against Vincent’s chest. Spotting the third rapidly approaching, Ser Vincent reacted.

He slammed the dog in his left hand down onto the ground, almost dislodging the wolf latched onto his shoulder. Rising to full height, he brought his boot down hard onto its chest, breaking through the bark and into the plant-like centre of the now whimpering wolf. He used both arms to peel away the second wolf, its splintered teeth leaving spittle and leaked chloroplast behind. The patch he had used to cover a previous bite mark had come undone.

He raised the beast above his head and slammed down onto the third wolf as it arrived, crushing its head as it went for Vincent’s ankle. Stepping back, he kicked off the still squirming carcass of the wolf, watching it scamper to its paws, wheezing as bits of plant helped it regenerate. The downed pair sluggishly rose up, obviously damaged more by the blow to their heads than the first wolf was to his chest.

And now Ser Vincent was left to deal with the four that had been trying to flank him, the light of his eyes hardly fading.

In truth, it wasn’t too high of a climb, and yet, at the same time it felt that way.

‘Hand after hand.’ she told herself. It didn’t help when she lost her grip and slipped, squealing and almost losing the precious potion in her mouth. She froze to the spot, eyes clenched shut, shivering as she gripped a root tightly in both hands.

“It might get scary, but guess what? Being scared shouldn’t stop you, it should motivate you. Just try climbing a bit higher… a little bit closer to the top than before, a little bit closer than before, and before you know it, you’re on top of the world.”

Sweetie Belle managed to get a good holding above the knight, who used his hand as a platform for her left hood. With it she reach up to the enclosing outcropping, taking a firm hold. Only she could through this gap and help the two get out of this forest.

With a steadying breath, she managed to calm herself. Her eyes opened with a burning determination, her hand already reaching a little bit closer to the top than before.

With enhanced strength, the knight lifted the wolf by its hind leg and plunged a fist into its belly. Green ichor and a stench of rotten eggs poured out as he retracted his hand, barely fazing the knight as he spun around sent it fly towards its peer. On collision, the pair were smashed to pieces, leaving one dog left: the beta timber wolf.

Ser Vincent didn’t even wait, he merely lowered his mask so that his piercing golden glare met the wild jade stare of the beta wolf, and walked backwards with his arms apart. It charged and closed the distance, leaping into the fray and landing both of its thick paws onto his shoulders. The beast was heavy and as large as an elephant, but Vincent was still stronger.

He rolled with the pounce, narrowly avoiding his head being bitten off and launched it over him with a brutal double kick from his powerful legs. Nimbly he recovered and bound over towards the beast whilst it skittered to it paws. He didn’t slow down, even as it growled— he took advantage of its exposed side.

It made to snap at him but he dodged and kicked its rear leg out. It swept its tail, composed of vines and thorns, stinging his side. Betas were a cut above the regular wooden mutts he had contended with. He promptly pounded the reinforced shoulder of the downed wolf with precise powerful blows. Being half an actual tree meant he was effectively trying to cut through a log with his gloved fists, and yet, cracks were forming.

The timber wolf growled, snapping at him with needle like teeth as it rose back to full height. He wasn’t in the mood to let it off the hook so easily and made to latch onto its side, one arm and one leg over its shoulder.

“You were never in my league to begin with,” he growled into its ear, securing his grasp.

The wolf seemed rather offended that something would dare to leap onto it for a change and began circling around itself, snapping at his leg. He succeeded in rising to mount it before its hind leg could scrap him off and so Vincent got to work on the next step of his plan.

Without warning he slipped forward, dragging the beast down by the neck as he planted his legs firmly onto the ground. With a strain he gripped tightly where the head socketed into the main timber body with his right hand, his left hooking under its jaw. With an acute twist he floored the beast, felling onto its side whilst still in the headlock.

It squirmed and writhed, pawing at him, an act halted with one boot placed squarely onto its neck. With all the might in his leg and arms, with the strength forged from years of dedication, with the fury and wrath of being protective of another, combined with the magic momentarily coursing through his veins, Ser Vincent growled and pulled. Bit by bit, sinew by sinew, vine by vine, the wolf’s cries quietened until a sickening crunch later and the head was tore from the shoulders.

He dropped the silenced beasts head with a huff, listening as the magically held together body and skull collapse into a fetid pile of sticks, bark and leaves. Wild glowing eyes watched the motionless pieces of timber for a moment, his heavy and quick breathing polluting the silent air. After a herculean feat of strength like that he felt a minor break was warranted.

Thud… Thud.

A small rest to allow him to face the alpha would have been nice, but a fire breathing small white cloud would do as well.

With a small grunt, Sweetie Belle pulled herself over the mouth of the hole. With a light pant she lay there, spitting out the orange flask to allow for easier breaths. She did it! It was an amazing feeling short lived as she recalled just where exactly she was. Struggling to her hooves, she looked over to spy Ser Vincent retreating from a hulking monster of a timber wolf.

It had to have been just shy of the embankment she had just scaled. Bundles of trees had bound together to make for powerful legs, the body was a small forest in its own right, the head the size of carriage and snout as long as an oak. It prowled out of the forest, trees gently laid to rest as paws pressed steadily down onto them. She could see more and more wolves following it, albeit smaller ones.

It emerged, scanning its fallen brethren before glaring at the prey before it. Ser Vincent could be seen steadily retreating, not once turning its back onto it. The alpha wolf then craned its head high and howled, and what an echoing and dreadful howl it was, the fur on the back of her neck stood on end and she held the potion tightly between her hands.

“Miss Sweetie Belle!”

Looking down, the knight began to sprint towards her, the golden lights of his eyes looking up.

“Prepare the potion as soon as it gets close enough!”

She glance to the potion and uncorked it: gulp it, breath in, and blow out some candles. Right?

He had baited the beast as close to the stone wall as he could and looked back. The alpha prowled closer, syrupy saliva seeping out from between its wooden canines. In the woods that surrounded the clearing another fresh pack of timber wolves slinked out. Good, they’d need to see this.

The alpha wolf sneered and growled, the distance between it and Vincent shrinking by the second. He stood there panting, his left hand closed and a vial of petrify in his right hand. He felt ragged by now, the magic beginning to take its toll -- his body wasn’t meant to handle magic but could in short bursts.

With a deep breath he clenched his right hand, breaking the vial and unleashing its contents. He formed a claw with his hand, feeling it tingle and stiffen as it turned to stone. When he latches on, he won’t have quite the literal iron grip but close enough. The liquid spell ended halfway along the forearm, the maw of his sleeve solidifying and greying.

He stepped forward, shaking his stone claw loose of residue, the droplets petrifying patches of grass beneath him. He planted one leg forward, his body twisted to the right and his left shoulder leading. He taunted with a beckoning motion, left hand clenched right hand turned to stone.

“Come on you overgrown fern!” he barked. The wolf lounged forward, maw agape. He was assaulted by a wave of fetid air, a visible fog of green stench slamming into him. The teeth had to have been as large as his forearm, the fangs as long as his arm itself! The mouth, open wide enough to swallow him whole, snapped down as he leapt back, left arm out stretched…

And caught. Teeth splintered and dislodged as his arm was caught between the canines, a cry of pain almost downed the knight. A gash formed in his coat but the armour beneath protected the flesh. He fell to a knee, the immense pressure clamping around his bicep turning to ache and torment. With his petrified clawed hand, he raked the earth, gasping as a slimy tongue writhed along his trapped arm.

‘Glad I wear gloves.’ An amusing thought, an oddity that made him chuckle as his senses returned moments before the beast dragged him off his feet. ‘In hindsight, not my best plan.’ The wolf whipped him about, shaking as one would wave a flag about. Time and time again he was pounded into the ground, his armour rattling as gasped and spluttered, the wind knocked out of him time and time again.

“Vincent!” Sweetie Belle cried in object terror as the wolf pinned him to floor, attempting to claw his body form his arm. The claws raked and gashed across the body of the knight, never quite gaining footing as he squirmed. She saw the other wolves circle around, jade eyes hungry, but above all else, she saw Vincent’s eyes still golden.

As well as a blue froth seeping out of the alpha’s maw.

Yes, the beast’s mouth had been sealed shut, hence why it hadn’t released him as of yet. He had thrusted his hand into the beast whilst holding several capsules of goo cast, crushing them and effectively binding himself to the alpha.

Ser Vincent, having lost his reflexive mirth at the sound of the unicorn’s cry, twisted until he could plant two feet onto the ground. With a heave and groan he rose back to full height, stumbling as the wolf retreated.

He then anchored his foot down, and for a completely different reason, he was glad Miss Belle couldn’t see his face as he glared up the muzzle of the wolf still trying to chew out his arm. He panted and wheeze, thankful that the adrenaline induced magic also numbed him to the intense pain he should be feeling.

“Miss Belle!” He cried, slamming his stone claw of a hand into the snout of the wolf, penetrating the thick wood. The wolf tried to free itself but was found to be rooted to the spot by Vincent’s immense strength. “On my mark!”

Again, he twisted his body, fighting the wolf for dominance. It was sheer grudge match of strength as he twisted and pulled, side to side. He growled himself when he spotted more wolves prowling closer – daring to interfere, something that spiked his ire. More the merrier he thought darkly. With a mighty heave he dragged the beast to the left, causing its front leg to slip.

“Now! Drink it now and aim at us!”

“But I’ll get you too!” Shock took Sweetie at the suggestion.

“Just do it!” Ser Vincent then roared once more, a powerful bark of his own as he swung the entire form of the alpha wolf to his right, slamming into the wall and knocking it off it feet. The colossus fell with a thunderous shudder, leg splintering. This was it, now or never. He couldn’t do this again, he couldn’t on this level of exhaustion for the rest of the day. He took on wounds that may well crippled him if not treated soon and the magic sustaining his superhuman endeavour was beginning to burn.

Sweetie Belle quickly downed the entire flask, reciting the instructions as she dropped the empty container beside her. The taste was coppery, a hint of lemon slipping down her throat. Take a deep breath; air filled her lungs, which started to glow through her furred boy with a fiery light.

Blow out the candles. She pursed her lips and jerked her head down, hands clenched by her side.

’“All you do is take a little sip…”‘

Those words of the knight rung in her little head all too late as the magic within her burst forth as a stream of burning flame. It was powerful as it was scorching, pummelling anything beneath it with a torrent of molten flame. She heard the cry of wolves through closed eyes, the heat alone threatening dry them as she swept the blaze along the bottom of the small cliff she had climbed.

Wolves fled as the ground burned, the dry oppressive heat sending the back and igniting tails. Like the burning ire of the Fates, the finger of wrath was dragged along the base of the cliff, incinerating anything in its path without discrimination. Tilting her head, she managed to reach close to the tree line before returning back towards the half cooked alpha.

Finally the burning stopped. Smoke trailed from her nostrils and mouth, her head light and dizzy as she stumbled to the edge to peer down. Whilst coughing Sweetie developed hiccups, rings of smoke puffing out with every spasm of her diaphragm.

“Vinc-hic-ent?!” She managed a yell, her blurry eyes spotting a streak of black and orange flickers. Her focus fell onto a single green flame, standing tall amidst patches of regular fires and ash. “Ser Vin-hic—whoa!”

With a splutter she slipped and fell forward, over the edge. Her scream was trailed by a line of smoke as she descended. Something crashed into her, warm and doused with ash. Her world spun until she crashed down, not as hard as expected and rolled until she came to rest atop a body, her eyes not yet adjusted to the world.

“V-v-v-hic-Vincent?”

“That’s Ser Vincent, Miss Belle,” the knight stated from where he lay. He propped himself up on his elbows, tilting his masked head. It was a chore to do just this.

Finally her eyes adjusted; through smoking hiccups she could see the knight was seemingly unharmed, scratches now marking his entire coat whilst ash painted his left arm black. The patch on his right shoulder had vanish, revealing a ring of teeth marks. But the most prominent feature he now sported were the wisps of emerald flames that danced on his shoulder and shins. She would have burnt her tail had not moved it away in time.

“Are you okay?” he asked, leaning forward. He made to reach her with his stone hand, but reconsidered. His left arm was nearly dead and the magical adrenaline rush was beginning to fade, the glow receding from his eyes.

“I’m fi-hic-ine,” she spluttered, sending a ring of black smoke into his face. “Thank you.”

“You drank the whole thing didn’t you?” Ser Vincent questioned through a heavy pant.

“Is that bad?” she asked, a little sheepish.

“Our bodies are different, so different does have different effects.” Vincent paused to splutter and shake off the ash on his muzzle. When failing to do so, Sweetie Belle assisted with her hand, finding the mask warm. “Thank you. A full beaker of dragon’s breath is about as quarter as strong as an actual adult dragon’s flame to ponies. For me, I imagine it’s like Twilight’s young dragon assistant as he is now.”

“So did I do something wrong?” she asked, shaking the ash from her three digited hand.

With a groggy motion, he scanned passed the little filly. The entire giant body of the alpha wolf had been incinerated leaving a pile of ash the size of a pony; what little grassland had managed to grow here had combusted, some places still alight; the earth here was cracked, in some places completely glassed, and the little unicorn before him was blowing smoke rings out her nose and mouth.

“Looks fine to me,” was all he had to say on the matter before her rested his head on the warm ground, his chest rising and falling rapidly. It really wasn’t… but he wouldn’t trade her life for undamaged habitat.

Chapter Six

‘Damage report: left bicep possibly damaged, in need of magical wraps, slight stiffening, healed in two days of constant bandaging; aches in lower back and right thigh should be treated with magical wraps, rest the right leg; pain in chest should be seen to, possible bruising, use magical wraps. Inspect armour for any unlikely faults.’

Both a benefit and a disadvantage of a magically enhanced adrenaline rush was that his body almost became numbed to pain and discomfort—he would become aware, feel a cold pressure of dull throbbing, but pain as a crippling sensation vanished. Alas, though he hasn’t tested it, mercifully through fate and usual careful planning, it would mean that if he had his fingers severed, he wouldn’t know until the end of the fight. Barring obvious visual clues, of course.

His body’s natural healing was quicker than a ponies but nothing on par with comic book heroes. His body went through the stage of clotting and sealing wounds, as well as repairing, twice as fast as ponies did, but again, lose a limb and it won’t grow back. He didn’t want to take his chances with a nicked artery either.

Aftercare was important for any knight, especially one who preferred to work alone. It was a shaman who taught him how to make magical wraps, before that he strengthened his skeleton the old fashioned way. With milk and brutality.

Another tip in his favour was that he was fortress of a being: years of harsh combat and vicious beasts had hardened him beneath the shell of his amour. And he was fairly tough to begin with. He’d fractured and broken bones enough that they were strengthened tenfold, another perk to being blindly tainted by magic, he supposed: incredible endurance.

‘Timber wolf chew toy certified. I can’t wait to tell Blue Blood about all the new forest friends I’m making.’ His mental remark was as stoic and dull as the mask that gazed forward. A charred gloved hand slid along the belt as he steadily marched on with a slight limp. The crunch of forest undergrowth was quieter beneath his right boot.

‘Equipment check… magical wraps, two vials of petrify, four blue goo capsules… and of course I left the rest behind. It was almost like I was moving house and wasn’t prepared for a dangerous voyage into the wilderness outside of town, whilst being led by an over enthusiastic filly.’

He heard a childish hiccup from above his head and his arms shifted to support the legs gripping his waist from behind.

‘Oh, and plus one busted oven lighter, A.K.A. Miss Belle.

The sky was darkening, the last orange hues of the day having been drowned by the creeping purple of night. Time was of the essence in order to avoid nocturnal predators, and to make matter worse, Sweetie Belle had begun to experience a stomach ache and burning in her throat. Both would pass as soon as she stopped coughing up smoke and the odd spark, until then, she found walking to be a tormenting chore. Hence the piggy back that seemed to soothe her.

Ser Vincent was running an estimation of how long before the magic and potion would cease to have an effect, and thanks to the guestimate of her weight gained by carrying her, he figured it was within the next hour or her next bathroom break.

“So tell me, what’s the weather like up there?” Ser Vincent began in faux jest without moving his head. She was resting her chin on the top of his hood, sending out the odd huff of smoke every now and then.

“It’s a bit cloudy but nice.” Hmm, he could appreciate a response like that. At least she sounded in fairly good health and mood. “Hey, is it always like that?” Her arms shifted from where they gripped around his neck for support as she leant to the side to try to look him in the face. “When you f-hic-ight monsters.”

He huffed in amusement.

“When things go spectacularly wrong? Yes. When I can follow through with a plan? They hardly know what hit them,” he said, his voice shifting from miserable to proud. True, his normal approach was taking the time to scope the surroundings of the animal in question, see where he could bait and trap it before delivering a knockout blow. Heck, with criminals it wasn't too different; in their caves and strongholds they effectively corner themselves. He wasn't a blood thirsty brute, just tactically mindful in when to strike devastating blows. “I normally have a full belt for my missions, but having moved house, I haven’t replenished in a while.”

“But you lo-hic-ooked like you could tackle that mega big tim-hic-ber wolf all by yourself,” she continued, jerking with every puff of a smoke ring. “Why do you use potions and stuff?”

Whilst he silently contemplated a response, Sweetie Belle recalled the awesome spectacle she could see as she bravely scaled the wall. He was as quick as lightning with her on his shoulder, as strong as a tornado, throwing the wolves around like they were out grown dresses! Then came the beta wolf that he threw over himself and broke apart with his bare (well, sort of) hands. And then came the big bad timer wolf that he managed to knock over onto its side!

’I can’t wait to tell the girls about this in school tomorrow!’ Her ears twitched and her tail wriggled along Ser Vincent’s lower back as she shook with glee, seemingly stirring the answer out of him.

“I like changing things, Miss Belle,” he summarised with a half-hearted shrug. “See, I like changing the battle when the bad guy thinks they can get away, when they believe they have bested me, and then I scare them when they think they’ve won.” He raised his head, walking with his posture fixed slightly. “Lead to gold, bone to stone, hair to metal wiring, all sorts of practical abilities are available through alchemy that I can make use of.”

“Hair to metal?” Sweetie asked incredulously, her face scrunching as he gently nodded.

“Makes for a vast supply of electrical wiring… or lock picks, or even a makeshift key if I pull out enough.”

Sweetie leaned over more, looking to his right hand that stiffly gripped her hoof. Flakes of solid rock fell from the still petrified wrist. She could see his finger hardly moving, stirring like sleepy snakes in a bag. The closer she looked the more obvious is became that there were two of his human fingers in one of those pony glove fingers. It was easy to forget he wasn’t a pony. She just needed help him realise that, but not right now.

“So do hic you really turn your bones to stone?” She was very curious about this; did his entire hand turn to rock or did his clothes?

“Yep, an incredibly tough stone coating that seeps into the bone, solidifying tissue in two separate densities—like how steel reinforces concrete so does my, um, bones reinforced the rest of the stone.” He counted a few passing smoke rings as he glanced around. Seemed the forest was thinning but not entirely gone.

“Doesn’t that hurt?” She shifted with discomfort, more at the thought than at the cramp in her gut.

“I often relate it to pins and needles, you know, the bad case of cold fizzing when you’ve slept on your hand or arm. Somepony’s also gripping your hand really tightly too.” He carefully stepped over a large ditch, “I assure you, it’s perfectly safe, I’ve got this brand of alchemy down to a science.” He probably shouldn’t go into detail in how blood still flows through and back into his arm, he didn’t want to upset her stomach further with how everything but circulation is magical petrified and preserved.

“Ugh, I hate that feeling.” Sweetie groaned, becoming aware of how tightly she clung to the knight. She removed an arm and shook it. “So is that your spe-hic-cial talent?” Her ears twitched as she heard an amused huff. “Like, changing yourself?” A barrage of ideas flooded her mind, spilling out in excited chatter.

“If you can ma-hic-ake me breathe fire, can you ma-hic-ake me breathe ice?”

“That was the next potion I learnt after dragon’s breath: winter’s kiss.”

“Can you make a potion to help you climb up walls?”

“Most use a gel that they rub their hands with. I do have an improved formula that lasts hours longer between applications.”

“Can you…turn fur in-hic-to crystal?” she asked as the crystal empire popped into her head. “I’d love to see what I’d look like as a crystal pony!”

“I… suppose, but I don’t see how that helps me.” A novel experiment, true, and he was slightly curious himself as to how to go about it. He began clicking his tongue as he thought of various methods of experimentation: it would have to be a shampoo base, of course, but from there where to go? ‘Perhaps I could use the ‘keratin-to-iron’ potion as a template?’

“Awww, but why not? Aren’t diamonds the toughest things around?” she argued with a frown. “It would look amazing! Me and the crusaders all glittery and shiny, with our gemstone fur coats…” She sighed dreamily.

Ser Vincent merely smiled to himself, knowing it was happening for once. He looked ahead and found a reason to grin like a Cheshire cat, or so his parent’s expression went.

“Say, um, Ser Vincent…” There was a hesitance in Sweetie Belle’s voice that made him pause, his mood dropping like a rock down the well. “Can you make ponies, um, more animal like?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Like, can you make a pony more dog-like or bat-like or dragon-like?” Sweetie had an idea pop into her head, but she wasn’t too sure how to broach it. Her big sister was better at that sort of thing. She figured that she could try to ease into it. She gripped him tighter. “Like, can you give a pony wings or cl-hic-aws?”

For a time, Ser Vincent was as silent as the mountains but moved like a gentle stream. Quiet, unwavering, unresponsive, and seemingly cold and distant.

“Is this permanent or for a period of time?” It was all he asked, no warmth to his voice.

“E-E-either.”

“Are you unhappy about something, Miss Belle?”

“What? Oh, no no no!” As soon as she caught onto his meaning, she leant back and shook her head vigorously—he didn’t see the act, more felt her vigorous denial. “It’s just, you can change things, right?”

“Correct. And in case you’re wondering, yes, I can and know it’s possible to mimic features of other animals… I have a potion that forms gills on your neck and beside your ribs.” He craned his head to the side, and if not for the hood, she assume he was trying to stare at her from the corner of his masked eye. “It’s a very, very delicate practice, Miss Belle. And some formula are forbidden and other potions considered down right impossible to actually produce. There are a lot of dangers to body modifying potions, because unlike spells, they can’t be dispelled—you have to let the potion run its course before trying something else.”

The practitioner could die through malformed cells and weakly woven magic unravelling, making the additions to one’s body a lethal hindrance. There were some true body horror stories in the field transmogrification alchemy, and non-surprisingly, there weren’t for little fillies.

“But you must be good at those potions if you turned your hand into a rock,” she rebutted, feeling the knight raise his head.

He spoke with pride. “I dare say, if I were among the minds of the Royal Alchemy Society, then I’d be one of the greats.” He then lowered his head, “Alas, I am but a humble knight, and it is not befitting to make such claims. ‘Besides, I’ve earned more respect as a knight and as an external consultant than a mere potion researcher.’

“Can you change… um…” This was it, the big question. However, should she ask? She was trying to tell him he would be okay not being a pony, that Ponyville was a nice and friendly place regardless of what he was. But asking this seemed… rude? Counter-productive? Insensitive? Yeah, that was it. She didn’t want to hurt his feelings, he did save her after all.

“Can I what, Miss Sweetie Belle?” He feigned sincerity in his words.

“Can you turn…”

Maybe he should help her out. “Miss Belle, let me simplify it for you, as a honourary member of the Royal Alchemy Society. Nopony has the formula to completely and safely transform from one species into another, permanently.” He may have been a bit blunt in spelling it out, but at least he had.

“I thought so, that’d be weird,” Sweetie added with a scrunch of her muzzle. “Would be kind of cool to see what it’s like to be a pegasus for a day. Just a day though.”

Ser Vincent stepped onto what he realised a moment ago was a trail, a strip of woodland floor marked out by ponies wondering to and fro, a path back to civilisation. ‘Look at that, one evening away and I already miss Ponyville. Maybe I’m mistaken after all.’

“Hey, I know this path,” chimed Sweetie Belle, pressing her hand past the side of the knight’s face and pointing deeper into the forest, “Zecora’s is that way!”

“Is it?” Ser Vincent’s shoulder slumped with exasperation, almost making the little filly slip off his back.

“I’m sure!”

“Great, I’ll keep it in mind.” Ser Vincent then promptly turned in the opposite direction, and marched-slash- speed-limped along the path.

“Hey, Zecora’s is the other way.” Sweetie’s protest wasn’t ignored for too long, just until she start leaning back. She strained as she wobbled, flailed, and begged, angry bursts of smoke puffing into existence before the knight. “Nnnnnnngh! How do I steer this thing?”

“I’m in no mood to traverse more of this forest at this time, Miss Belle,” Ser Vincent started with a stern voice. “I’ll assume this way leads back to town, then? I’m taking you home, and please, watch the hood.”

“But-“

“No ‘buts’, Sweetie Belle. This forest is a dangerous place and not suitable for little fillies to venture into alone.” He pushed her higher up his back, wincing at the bolt of pain in his right leg. “Though I can protect you, that doesn’t mean I should have to because a night in the Everfree takes to your fancy. You’re going home and that’s final.” He was curt and blunt, his pronunciation fatherly irate in order to drive the message home. Beneath the mask he was simply tired but didn’t want it to be heard.

She was quiet for a time and he didn’t like it one bit. He was right, of course he was; he had no obligation to prolong this failed visit and jeopardise the safety of this compassionate little unicorn, nor did Vincent wish her parents to worry and panic over the whereabouts of their precious daughter. Did they even know what she was doing? Joy… he felt he should anticipate backlash from this small escapade.

“Apple Bloom walks through here on her own…” Sweetie Belle muttered those words as all defeated children did when felt they were facing unequal treatment. She pouted and moped, resting her chin on top of his head.

“Well, Little Miss Apple Bloom isn’t here right now, is she?” Maybe he should hold back the snark. He was forgetting that she was only trying to help and that the outing had spiralled out of control.

“Yes I am.” Lo and behold, before him along the path stood Little Miss Apple Bloom. Her buttery fur coat was caked with mud around her hooves, her hand a touch green from where she had been picking plants. A smile sprouted as she started waving with one hand, her pretty pink bow and the basket in her other arm shaking. “Hey, Mr Ser Vincent! What are you doing here?”

‘Ah, the uncommon Argumentative Inconvenience, such a rare creature, such cunning in its well-timed strikes.’ This of course was his second thought, his first being why in Equestria she was here in all places.

“Little Miss, I must say it’s a surprise to see you here, alone, venturing into the woods…”

“I was jus’ about to ask you the same thing!” she said as she cantered over, tail whipping, amber eyes alight with glee. “Hey Sweetie Belle, what you doing here in the Everfree Forest?”

“Hey Apple Bl-hic-oom, we were just trying to find Zecora’s.” Sweetie offered both a wave and a small smoke ring, an act that quirked a brow from the mini-farmer.

“Uh, well the way’s you’s wanna go is that way,” Apple Bloom said pointing behind Ser Vincent. At hearing this, Sweetie Belle developed the smuggest look she could muster and leant forward as far as she could. Until she was certain the knight could see her. She knew he did when he mechanically turned his hooded mask to face her.

“Are you okay, Sweetie? You’re, um, kind of blowing out smoke every now and then.”

“I’m fine. I just burnt down a barn-sized timber wolf.”

These were not normal sentences he expected to hear from little fillies.

Chapter Seven

It was with the last breathe of the day that caused the hanging incense bottles to clink and sway from the branches of the shaman hut. There was no way about it, even in the dying light, beneath freshly birthed stars, Miss Zecora’s home was easily identifiable in the forest.

It was a broad piece of eco-architecture but twisting and slanting, a zebrican cousin to the oak that made Princess Twilight’s library; ocular windows were of different sizes, an earthly yellow glow from within illuminating several masks he recognised as cordial signs: “The spirits smile upon you.” and “Go in good health, friend.” being the more complex designs of welcoming and farewell. It was certainly a homely affair beneath the shaggy canopy, and as Little Miss Apple Bloom knocked on the door, he caught many clashing aromas of warding potions designed to keep beasts away.

‘Perhaps I can acquire knowledge on what predominantly prowls these woods beside timber wolves so that I plan accordingly for my own excursions here.’ It was an appeasing thought but it was shattered with a wince and a hiss when he lowered Miss Belle from his back.

“Oh no, you’re hurt!” With a worried look she rested a hand on his left arm, retracting when he staggered back and stared at her with a craning head. Her ears flattened as she averted her gaze. Was he angry? “This is all my fault.”

“I’ll be fine after a good night’s sleep,” he replied with a weak warmth, the kind akin to the dying embers of a fire. He waved her off with his right hand, before nodding and thumbing towards the hut, voice growing louder and more cheerful, “Besides we’ve finally arrived.”

He certainly didn’t feel merry but after projecting a kind voice it at least brought a small smile to her maw. Sweetie’s ears were still flat and her eyes fell onto her hooves and lingered there, weighed down by a thought before she tried once again to look at him, and failed. ‘At least she feels guilty. It’ll pass, quicker with my help I suppose.’ He patted her on her fluffy, curly mane, pricking up her ears in surprise.

“Be certain you know the way of anywhere you wish to go in future, Miss Belle, okay? I can’t be everywhere at once if you find yourself in trouble.” His words were kind, friendly and earnest; he tilted his head as she beamed up to him.

“Cross my heart, hope to fly, stick a cup-hic-cake in my eye!” she said, with strange accompanying gestures.

“… I take it that means you will?”

“Yep. It’s a pinkie promise, you never break a pinkie promise.” Her expression turned dark, daunting even. “Ever.” There was certainly something unsettling about that last part.

“Guys! Y’all coming in or what?!” Apple Bloom cried from the open door.

He trudged along with the white unicorn in tow. Ser Vincent ducked down through the door and scanned the surprisingly spacious room. The large cauldron was the main feature amidst other items of interest, primarily because it bubbled with herbs and vegetables, steam rising into the chimney made from the hollowed out trunk. More masks adorned the walls, as did wax-dripped candles and irregular jars and hanging corked beakers. Those were something that caught his eye, and reminded him how a shaman always knew which beaker had what potion—Ser Vincent hated that traditionalists never labelled their ingredients like he did. Always thought it was bothersome. Also the lack of a hoof-mat made him feel uncomfortable having to drag dirt into the home.

“Zecora, I’ve brought some friends!” Apple Bloom yelled towards a back room. She left the basket on a table, something that seemed out of place in the au natural theme in the abode.

“Then fetch some bowls on my behest, coincidence tell us to feed our guests.” Her voice seemed otherworldly with playful wisdom, aged perhaps a couple years more than his.

She stepped out and as he had been previously informed, she was a zebra: striped grey and charcoal, mohawked, and adorned with traditional gold rings on her wrists and at the base of her ears. Rings of adulthood, but commonly copper coloured unless a mare just wanted to feel pretty. It was the four rings around her neck, however, that told him she was she recognised as great herbalist. Zecora was fairly built, exotically feminine, endowed in the chest but he noticed that her muzzle was squared, often a masculine trait. It hardly detracted from her allure.

With teal eyes she blinked and stared, gaze locked on the knight. “One friend is Sweetie Belle, it’s definitely her. Dearest Apple Bloom, who is this stranger?”

‘Rhyming speech? Charming in conversation, annoying in learning alchemy.’ His tutor felt the same way when studying under a shaman himself, but since he wished his students to be the best, and had an ego himself, he thought he teach through riddles and rhymes from time to time. Normally as final credit in order to finish an assignment.

“Ser Vincent, of the Solaris Knights, I’m new to the area and Miss Belle thought you could help me settle in.” He offered a bow of the head, stepping forward and passed Sweetie Belle. He approached Zecora, finding unsure in expression and coming to shoulder height. He offered upturn palms.

“K’yan…erm… mulinart, Shanagin Zecora,” he said with a warm voice and respect. It had been a while since Zebrica but he wasn’t too rusty. Her eyes lit up, a chuckle escaping as she rested her hands atop his.

“K’yan mulinart, Vanue Ser Vincent,” she replied, earning a cordial bow of the head from him.

He withdrew his hands along hers, sliding under rather than dropping them. He rolled his right hand. “Just Ser Vincent will do.”

“What was that?” Sweetie Belle asked, soon joined by Apple Bloom who returned with wooden bowls.

“That’s zebra for ‘Hello’, right?” Apple Bloom passed Zecora glance for reassurance, earning a nod.

“Though my homeland has no word for your Equestrian knights, that does not mean we have no words for those who can fight.” Zecora ushered Ser Vincent to a seat at the table.

“Vanue are vanguards,” Vincent continued, enjoying being off his feet as he glanced to both fillies by the cauldron. “Of those who guard Zebrica they are the best of the best.” He took a seat close to the wall, the table being fit for four at most.

“Cool!” Apple Bloom chirped, looking to Zecora with an inquisitive glance. “Hey, Zecora, can we start greeting each other like that?”

The shaman quirked an amused brow. “If that is what you wish then you should make it known, my potion tricks are all you wanted to be shown.”

“Oh right!” All turned to Sweetie Belle who faced Apple Bloom with a giddy grin, “Apple Bloom, I’ve got an idea, but first let me tell you about what just happened.” With that she began to recount events that lead them there, starting from when the knight moved in.

“So, you are the one who’s stealing the attention.” Zecora’s words gained his focus. “You were a subject of Apple Bloom’s frequent mention.” She leant back on the cushioned seat, tilting her gaze with a ghost of a smile. “A brave and kind knight in their eyes, but something else beneath the disguise.”

He’d anticipated this. Sweetie Belle had stated that she and her friends had made the knight a topic of discussion within their school, and he couldn’t imagine Apple Bloom was quiet about him either. Still, to be so blatantly seen as something else other than a pony made his skin crawl beneath the armour.

“I take my occupation to my heart, Miss Zecora,” he began with professional pride, “I am a knight through and through.”

“Of this I have no doubt,” she replied, leaning forward with a pleasant smile. “So tell me, how may I help you out?” He saw that her ear had twisted away, catching the animated chatter of the fillies behind him.

Oh. He really didn’t have a clue as to how he was supposed to do this? What was here to do in first place? Maybe he should try what sparked his interest in the first place, before tackling what Miss Belle wanted.

“I happen to be a master of my alchemy field, which involves potion crafting with expensive and hard to find plants,” he said, glancing to the basket with leaves poking out. “I hear a few species of plants, poison joke, heart’s desire, etcetera, are obtainable in this forest, and that you would know where to find them.” He brought up both hands in a defensive manner, an ache in his left arm almost cracking his diplomatic voice, “You don’t have to worry, I can look after myself. Perhaps you could share with me what you’re using to ward off the animals? It would make the trek home safer for me and Miss Belle, too.”

There it was, all in one go. Nothing else was needed, right?

“I can show where these flowers do grow,” she said with a nod, “Is this all that you wish to know?” She tilted her head once again. This Zecora was pushing for something, and as Sweetie Belle’s intentions surfaced he realised just what. “I hear that you are new to the town, something which does cause you to frown. Are you without a library? Do you need a new wine cellar? I can show you the post office, even a cloud seller." She peered into him with a slight squint, the knight instinctively averting his gaze. "You hide your difference beneath your cloth, do you perhaps wish to show it off?”

He offered a shrug and folded his arms. He’d forgotten how tricky and mysterious these shamans were, crafty but friendly.

“I don’t show off. It’s rather arrogant to force everyone to see your achievements.” Being one of the most respected knights was a worthy title, but shoving that in everypony’s face just wasn’t his style. Not to say he was humble either, when asked he’d tell, but he wouldn’t embellish… too much. He patted his coat. “If this tricks ponies into thinking I’m a weird knight, but one they can talk to, then it’s better than being seen as a non-pony knight that they won’t talk to.” He shook his head. “Forgive me, I’m sensing a recurring theme in recent days that’s starting to get on my nerves.”

“I see you detest ponies who put you under reproach, especially when they comment upon your approach.” She turned away and he looked back to followed her gaze, spotting Sweetie Belle standing on the tips of her hooves to relay the size of the alpha timber wolf to the enraptured Apple Bloom. When Zecora spoke up once more, he turned back to her. “T’was dearest Apple Bloom who welcomed me first, when Ponyville thought I was the Everfree's worst. Beneath a shadowy hood I came to town, only to be met with a let-down. No stalls of veg and fruit nor ponies galore, vendors and families would lock their door.”

“They ostracised you?” Vincent asked with his hand clenching. She waved him off with a chuckle.

“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.”

Vincent offered a sigh, leaning back. What was with everypony and his choice in attire? It was fine until they realised he wasn’t a stallion. Either they don’t like him being a human knight because it scares them or they don’t like him being an overdressed stallion because it too strange for them. If it’s different they worry, if it’s weird they bother it.

‘How am I supposed to win this?’ In his brief moment of mental disparity, he failed to notice Little Miss Apple Bloom trot over to his side until she patted his shoulder.

“Is it true? Did you beat up a pack of timber wolves and then burn down the big wolf?” There was a childish glee befitting her excitement. She seemed amazed, hardly watching where she was placing the servings on the table. It smelt of parsnip and had an earthly aroma, likely from the portion of plants that were a part of a pony’s diet.

‘Alas, I’ll be in a worst state if I have any of this. Shame, always wanted to know what scarlet sage tasted like.’

“Technically, Miss Belle, burnt down the alpha wolf, I held it in place.” And he was paying for it.

“That’s amazing! Sweetie Belle says you also use potions, like Zecora.” To this, the zebra took interest. “Do you have anymore?”

He pulled out another vial of grey, gritty sludge. He held the vial of petrify in his open palm, briefly explaining its function and how he applied it. He also quickly referred to dragon’s breath when the small unicorn sneezed out a thick cloud of smoke.

“Ah, one who changes his shape and flesh, combining fire and breath for a fearsome mesh.” Zecora began with a cryptic smile, one that didn’t meet her eyes. “I’m curious as to what a humming could be. I doubt with the mask I’ll get to see.” She raised a hand before Ser Vincent could respond. “I will not pry nor will I press the issue, I wish sanctuary and comfort in here for you.”

He inclined his head foreword in gratitude. “Thank you, though I’m sorry to say that I can’t partake in this meal. Not just because of obvious reasoning… but, well, since you know, I can’t live on a pony’s diet because I’m not a pony.” He put his hand on his chest. Mirth creeping into his tone. “I’m called a human, not a humming.”

“Are yer sure?” Apple Bloom asked, innocently glancing to the bowl of stew. “Cuz I’m sure yer said that you were a humming.”

“You told everypony at school I was a humming?” Vincent tilted his head as she nodded sheepishly, a smirk creeping into his tone. “Well, you’re gonna have to tell them you were wrong.”

“Told you, you were wrong!” Apple Bloom stated, pointing to Sweetie Belle, who stood beside the cauldron gob smacked.

“Did not, you totally said that was what he was called!” Sweetie Belle reiterated, hoping over with an empty bowl. She placed on an empty space at the table as Apple Bloom turned to put her hands on her hips.

“Did not”

“Did to!”

“Did not!”

“Did to!”

“Did not!”

“Did to!”

“Did not!”

“Quiet,” Ser Vincent drawled with warning to the edge of his voice. He glanced to Sweetie Belle, discomfort with his species being the topic making his stomach knot. “Miss Belle, I believe it’s time to go. Your parents must be worried sick.” The knot tightened. It was late and she had been out all day with the strange knight that every pony was wary of. He’d escort her home safely, all the while dreading the confrontation with her parental figures.

“Oh no.” Sweetie Belle went wide eyed before galloping over to a large window, ears falling flat as she looked up. “It’s passed sun-hic-down. Aaaawww!” she wailed. Sweetie then turned around, pouting and moping over to the door.

“Is something the matter?” Zecora asked, getting up out of her seat.

“My big sister isn’t gonna teach me how to make cherry pie anymore because I said I would be back before sundown.” She groaned, stamping her hoof before looking to Vincent with anger. “Great! First we get lost, then we get attacked by timber wolves, I get dirty, my tummy still hurts, and when we finally find Zecora’s we have to go!” Her tail lashed as she marched up to the door and pulled it open.

“I don’t know how it can get any worse!” she squawked before there was a flash of light. Next came the thunder, followed by a monumental down pour. With cute ire and the wrath of a day’s frustration boiling over, she raised her arms and gestured outside. “Oh come on!”

Ser Vincent released an amused huff, shaking his head and bringing a hand to rest on his muzzle. Honestly, he felt sorry for the little filly. Well, he supposed that whilst he was here he might as well achieve something that she wanted. He glanced to Zecora. “Once I’m settled in and able, could you show me where some of those plants grow?” He earned a soft smile and a nod before Apple Bloom caught his eye.

She tapped her fingers together, her tongue pressing into her cheek as she mulled over something in thought. “C-could you, um, teach me a few things about makin’ potions?” Had she not barraged him with wide amber eyes he probably would told her a flat out no. “I mean, I’m really grateful that Zecora lets me help but I only really chop up a few things.”

Tearing his gaze away, he rubbed the back of his hooded head.

“Little Miss, please understand that I can’t always be here to teach you; I’m a knight not a teacher.” he began, Apple Bloom wilting a tad, “But I can tell you where to start, point you to a book or two. Also, you don’t start off making potions right away. There are things you need to learn, so Miss Zecora is not wrong.”

That perked Apple Bloom up, and feeling his business, however short and imposed on him it was, was over, he turned his attention back to Sweetie Belle. It was heart breaking seeing the angel white filly defeated as she stood in the doorway. Her ears hung heavy with self-assigned failure, tail limp as if dampened by the rain already, and he could have sworn he heard sniffled as he approached from behind.

He gently rested a hand on her shoulder, startling her. She wasn’t crying or tearing up, thankfully, but she was as every bit upset.

Ser Vincent’s voice was warm and sincere, and once again in a rare moment of self-awareness, he felt the smile on his lips beneath the mask. “Let’s take you home.”

“I’ll be soaking wet and I’ll end up in more tr-hic-ouble,” she mumbled, a weak ring of smoke puffing into existence.

Ser Vincent decided that drastic measures had to be taken, if only to repay the kindness shown, or at least attempted to be shown. He couldn’t sit by and not help, he had too much pride in what he did to ignore this.

“Huh?” Sweetie Belle was startled by the weight of the viridian long coat placed over her shoulders, much heavier than she would have expected. A warm spice was deeply inhaled, pleasant and soothing as she turned to face the now kneeling knight.

He’d lost the hood now, leaving wavy locks of short, wild hair to cling to his scalp, like sweat drenched roots. His ears were flat but rounded, strange but… not necessarily weird to look at. The mask was still there, hanging on snug and tight by three strong straps that reached around the back of his head. The shadow that once covered the eyes were gone, revealing glistening malachite orbs deep within that looked back kindly.

“It’s raining Miss Belle, and I would hate for you to get wet.”

Unsure and following through with the instinctive action of putting on a coat laid on to her, she found that she could only reach halfway through the wide arms of the coat, and that the bottom touched the floor.

“But it’s too bi--” she was cut off by him flipping the hood over, her horn causing it to tent. She had to wave her hands around to roll up enough sleeve, and when she did she found him standing in the rain, scaled body armour glistening with droplets.

“Do you need help returning home, Little Miss Apple Bloom?” Vincent called back into Zecora’s hut. Sweetie turned to find her school friend shaking her head and waving, a wide smile on her maw.

“No, I’m staying over! Thanks anyway! See you around, Mr Ser Vincent!”

“It’s Ser… never mind, Little Miss, never mind.” He turned his masked gaze to Zecora, using the dark of night to hide his exposed features. “Wilho’tyko, Shanagin Zecora.”

“Wilho’tyko, Vanue Vincent,” she returned, broadly smiling. “Though our meeting was for a short duration, next time let us extend such an occasion. Feel free to visit, Ser Knight, anytime. And know this: for you, friendship is not a crime.”

He didn’t offer any reaction, letting the rain patter off his muzzle and armour before mechanically turning to the filly buttoning up his oversized long coat.

“Shall we go?”

Under the hood and with only he muzzle poking out, she smiled and said, “Lets.”

Chapter Eight

As the eldest sibling, Rarity had duties to take on, mainly looking after her younger sibling whilst they parents did a bit of globetrotting. Not that she did mind; with such responsibilities thrusted upon her, she had come to forge a sisterly bond, strengthened in the past couple of years in particular. It was fun to be somepony a younger pony looked up to. Hence her growing concern.

Though not in a full blown panic, anxiety bubbled at the back her mind. It wasn’t the first time Sweetie Belle returned later than expected after a day of crusading, but it was dark outside, and it was raining particular heavily. She could no longer distract herself with a light salad and with a few designs for the knight.

Her nerves got to her when she remember her little sister left behind her rain coat. Rarity had been chewing her lip as she worked the desk, top button undone and with her tail twitching constantly. She had abandoned her glasses a while ago and the paper bin for sloppy designs was beginning to over flow. After another whine escaped her, she magically scrunched up her current drawing and tossed onto the paper pyramid beside the ornate desk. Most of her designs were done in a heartbeat: simple shirts of a broad spectrum of colours, but mostly green and gold. She attempted a few more interesting designs, involving waist coats and the like.

“Where is that filly?” She followed a sweet scent behind her, looking towards the small alcove that serves kitchen-dining area combo. Her spread of spiced coconut lentil soup and vegetable lasagne would be lukewarm by now, the cherry pie she could smell causing the lady's stomach to groan much to her embarrassment. She wouldn’t allow herself a bite just yet, however. Not without Sweetie. She glanced to the design before her.

‘Stoic concern burned through those golden eyes after he saved her, a face different and simply… there before her causing a cry of surprise and fear to escape. Cheeks became taught, thin lips receded, fangs bared beneath a furious brow, eyes softening between the two.’

She brought a delicate hand to her pert muzzle, massaging the bridge of her snout with her eyes closed. The door blew open, startling the mare as wind and rain pelted the welcome mat.

“Rarity!? I’m sorry I’m late home!” Sweetie Belle yelled. Swivelling on her chair, Rarity was prepared to scald the little filly but instead pointed a confused stare as she trudged in.

Sweetie wore a familiar viridian long coat much too big for her, a three inch gap between the now wet floor revealing white hooves stained with mud. The childish muzzle and protruding horn were dusted with dirt and black stains matted her ivory fur. The sleeves were far too long and hung limp as she pulled the timber hood back, revealing a sheepish grin on Sweetie’s maw.

“Sorry.”

“Sweetie Belle?” Rarity kneeled before her sister, looking aghast at the filthy dishevelled state of Sweetie. “What in Equestria happened?” she asked, dabbing a black spot. “Is this ash? Oh, darling, what have you burnt down this time?”

“Of course you’re her big sister. I only ever bump into nine ponies in this town.”

As soon as she turned her head she realised why the tattered coat was familiar. With heavy steps Ser Vincent entered the boutique, hydra-esque armour glistening with a coat of rain. He closed the door and she saw the back of his head exposed, hair and snug fitting mask straps on view.

“Ser Vincent? What happened?” She saw him sigh and lean his mask’s forehead against the door, his body shuddering and slumping as he showed reluctance to face her.

“You failed to mention that, Miss Belle.” He turned his head to the side, malachite eyes honing in on the blinking filly.

“Really?” Sweetie said, momentarily perplexed by her own forgetfulness. “Are you sure?”

“Um, excuse me?” Sweetie’s attention was stolen by the less than impressed looking fashionista, who regarded both parties with her arms folded beneath her buxom chest. “Could somepony please explain why my little sister is in such a state?” She pointed an arched brow at the knight when he chuckled warmly.

“Well, Miss Belle?” he said turning to face Rarity whilst gesturing to the filly. He then tilted his head back, revealing his clothed neck rather than his exposed top. Helped being tall. His tone was friendly, casual, “She did say somepony, after all.”

And so Sweetie did. Over the course of Sweetie’s regaling of ‘the knight and the crusader’, the filly had become seated on Rarity’s fainting couch, who also joined her on the plush velvet seat. Ser Vincent opted to lurk by the rounding wall, his back to it. His half-charred coat was being seen to by magically suspended hairdryers—an absurd amount for one mare, he noted—a courtesy bestowed onto him by the generous Rarity, whether he wished it or not. She tried in vain to scrub a few stains of ash away but it was a wasted effort.

The coat was long dry before Rarity decided to stop, her attention drawn to riveting tale of her sister and the knight’s heroism in face of timber wolves. She was captivated by the abilities the knight displayed, from his potion craft to his feats of strength. Vague and animated gestures spilled from the filly about dozens of wolf packs, all at least as tall as her. How the knight acted with such swift speed, herculean strength, and how he toppled the massive alpha timber wolf.

Confirmation of exaggeration was difficult to get out of the knight as he lurked to the side, stoic and statuesque. She notice how he folded his arms and stood with boots heel to heel, tall and proud, but as the conversation went on it became obvious that he was simply reserved. Yet, an important fact that she couldn’t help notice, it seemed whenever Sweetie Belle talked about being afraid or how troublesome she was supposedly, he’d step in and dismiss the thought entirely. Barn sized wolves? He corrected to an actual height in meters. Sweetie Belle drinking all of a potion that let her breathe out fire? ‘Mistakes are easy to make.’ Rarity was equally as supportive and enthralled by Sweetie’s decisive moment in the event.

“And then I breathed this humungous breathe of fire, it was amazing!” she exclaimed with leg swinging excitement. “It was like pffffff… fwooomph! Sweetie spread her arms wide, grinning up to her older sister.

“I assume then that our knight made a narrow escape, judging by the scorch marks on the back of his coat?” Rarity interjected with a frown. She glanced to the knight who shook his head, shocking her slightly.

“Coat’s good against anything beasts spit at me, from fiery, caustic, even to freezing; it would take the flame of an adult dragon to burn through.” He shrugged. “Armours good too.”

If he was honest, he had more faith in his coat than Sweetie Belle not roasting him alive. At worst he broke out in a sweat. His knighthood had married his alchemy skills in order to better his combat abilities and improve his own body if necessary.

“It would seem the wolves were doomed from the start,” Rarity said with a smile.

“And then we bumped in Apple Bloom before heading over to Zecora’s,” Sweetie continued, “But then I realised how late it had gotten and then it started raining, an I’m really really sorry for that.” As a natural defence mechanism, Sweetie fired of the puppy dog eyes and pout, complete with trembling lip.

Rarity sighed deeply, looking to the knight with a defeated grin. She took a moment to study his reserved form briefly. His grip on himself tightened in a subtly protective manner under her gaze. Was her attention so threatening that he felt cornered? Rarity could see where he was exposed and found it was hardly worth mentioning. Her smile softened, gratitude twinkling as she looked into his eyes.

“Sweetie, I believe you should take a quick bath,” Rarity said sternly, “You’ve been through a lot, mostly dirt and ash to be exact.” Sweetie’s ears perked up. “After that we’ll have a late supper, but not too late. Ladies need their beauty sleep after all.”

“You’re not mad at me?” Sweetie asked, tail curling around her ankle. Rarity immediately gave her sister a tight hug.

“Oh, I was worried sick. I’m just glad that you’re okay.”

Ser Vincent couldn’t smile as he looked away from the all too familiar touching scene. How many loved ones had he reunited after they were lost to an unforgiving wilderness? How many were trapped by their fellow pony? How many were kids? How many times were his fault? Unlike the other times he could say this was a first. A knight had one priority: protect the innocent. What happened to today was the opposite of that and it choked his pride. He should have just said no.

A scurry of hooves drew his attention, the lighter set belong to Miss Belle as she skipped upstairs. Before he could react, Miss Rarity guided his gaze to her with her primary finger on his muzzle. She held a devilish smirk to his surprise.

“Shall we get started?

...

...

Designs. She wished to discuss designs, and to his bewilderment, he went along with it. Without his coat he felt exposed and she wouldn’t relent, picture after picture, every so often sent over from where she sat at the desk.

“Given your tastes, I believe long sleeves are just your thing, and I know you said earthly hues were your preference, but maybe we could try a broader spectrum.” She was studying the damage to the coat, handkerchief keeping ash from tainting her pristine fur. Another design was sent over.

He took hold of another design and saw a trend: the body was without hands, feet, or even a head—but it was a rather dapper looking disfigured body none the less.

“Dare say, should you attend any formal event, I'm thinking white shirt, emerald double breasted waist coat and gold tie would be fitting. Pardon the simplicity, but other things plagued my mind this evening. See, I would embroil a filigree motive on the left side, perhaps a shade lighter… darker? As for the tie, I’m thinking satin…” She trailed off and spun in her chair, hand on cheek and contemplation burrowing her brow. “Hmmm. Satin is a tough material to care for. I’d hope you give it the care it needs.”

Still rather dumbfounded, he looked to the design, then back to the impassioned eyes of a candle-lit Rarity before shaking his head. He placed the paper aside onto the neatly growing pile.

“Begging your pardon, Miss Rarity, but I don’t understand what’s happening.”

Rarity blinked momentarily before tittering, a sound he linked to a distant wind chime. She sauntered over after brushing her skirt down.

“We’re discussing a new image for you.” Rarity said, taking a seat opposite the knight to entice comfort. With a quick burst of wispy magic she held the stack of design on her lap and arched a brow. “What else did you think we were doing?”

When he faced her he saw an amused grin on her angelic features. She was gorgeous in her own right, exhuming a refined charisma as subtly as her lilac perfume. Snow white fur glowed in the surrounding candle light, regal purple mane and eyes dazzling, every expression hospitable, sincere, and pleasant. Beautiful.

“I assumed I would be apologising profusely for endangering Miss Belle,” he said with honest confusion. Unless of course this was to be his punishment: though he was brought up to wear clothes he wasn’t an avid fan of shopping for them. Mostly because of the whole ‘seen-without-his-armour’ paranoia. ‘Dear Fates above, how can I be so pathetic in this regard?’ It never bothered him until now.

“I’m terribly sorry. I never should have considered it from the start. I heard that ponies avoided it for goodness sake and still went along with it.” His voice was less muffled, the soft baritone lacking the faint echo.

Rarity scooted closer as he brought a hand to his nose, smirking as he stopped the pointless act.

“I had time to think it over whilst I looked over your coat,” she started with slow nod and with eyes darting to the desk, “and I concluded that, although it was dreadfully dangerous, things simply got out of hand when Sweetie forgot the way.” Leaning back she spied a buckle on the back of his head that kept the mask snugly fitted by the straps. “I suspect that Apple Bloom guides her friend to Zecora’s safely, and Sweetie assumed she could remember the way.”

He was quiet.

“Thank you, Ser Knight.” Rarity said in hopes that he gratuitous words would reach him. She was honestly thankful that Sweetie Belle returned safely and was perturbed by the knight being as wound up as a fresh bolt of cloth.

“You really shouldn’t be thinking much of it, Rarity. I brought her to a dangerous place and she almost paid for it.” He struggled to raise his left arm as he turned both palms up before him. The bracer was on his right and he turned to display the Solaris Knight’s badge: a golden sun with a platinum guard’s helm staring back at him, judging him, edges slashed but the core undamaged. He grunted as he dropped both arms onto his knees. “That is the opposite of what knight’s do.”

He flinched when Rarity rested a hand on his knee, tensing and stirring a deep ache in his injured arm and thigh. His nerves burned at her touch. Stiffly, he looked to Rarity who stared back with a saddened scowl.

“If I know my sister, and had she decided to venture in to Everfree alone, then I’d likely have sombre news that I couldn’t bear. I'm fine with a filthy sister and floors, thank you.” She frowned as he, gently as always, brushed her hand away. “Ser Vincent, I understand you feel guilty, and in an accidental way, maybe you are, but everything’s fine now and I don’t hold this against you.”

She continued, hand on heart. “I am deeply thankful that you protected my sister, and I’d hate for this to bother you. I’m just happy she’s home safe.” She blinked before giggling into her hand. “And thank you for offering your coat. I would hate to find that she caught a cold in the morning.”

Steadily, he tilted his head as he regarded this strange mare. She had every right to be furious, to curse him and demand he stay away. But she forgave him. She was generous and it unnerve him. The fault began with him and his incompetence… why didn’t she hold it against him?

“You know she gets into all sorts of trouble like that,” Rarity said with a conspirator’s smirk.

“You’re kidding.” His words were sceptical and deadpanned.

She nodded in response. “Oh certainly. One time she attempted fire juggling with her friends.” He huffed in amusement as she rolled her eyes in fondness. “On the bright side there were no more circus base crusades after that. I believe the next task was being shot out of a cannon!”

“Crusades?” he inquired, keeping his head atilt.

Rarity nodded and patted her hip. “For their cutie mark, dear, she’s a late bloomer but she’s having fun with it.”

“I noticed but… seems a bit far.” Farfetched more like. He was particularly worried about casual way she spoke about this, as if mentioning the weather.

“Oh, Sweetie and her friend do all sorts of bizarre activities to earn their marks. Usually ending in disaster.” She shrugged with a warm smile. “I would prefer her trying for safer talents, but…” Rarity’s expression didn’t falter as such, but she looked to her polished hooves with a distant look, her smile more loving. “I’d rather have her laugh and keep trying, than quit and cry. For now they can have some fun and I'll be here if she ever needs me.”

For a while Vincent was silent, contemplating on what to say. His words soon came easy enough after one glance towards her, and he even felt the faintest of grins on his own lips.

“She’s lucky to have you in her life, Lady Rarity.” Surprise took her as he continued. “I’m sure with your guidance she’ll grow into wonderful mare, if she’s anything like you at least.” He leant back and glanced up to the ceiling, “You’re both kind, compassionate, strong willed, and unfortunately for me, persuasive.”

“What wonderful things to say—thank you, Ser Vincent,” Rarity said with heartfelt gratitude, combing her mane with a hand. “It’s nice to know I’m in your good books, so know you’re in mine.” She then donned a mocking scowl, “so long as you explain the ‘unfortunate’ part.”

He shakily rose to his feet, wincing as his thigh acted up, and migrated towards his coat. She joined beside him soon after, watching him delicately hold the charred arm of coat as if it was the injured limb of an animal. Thankfully the botched shoulder repair job he’d done himself was long lost, though she kept that quiet. Alas, it exposed the old bite marks on his right shoulder, the newer additions being short streaks to one side that manage to tear through.

“You convinced me to take off my mask once…” He turned soft spoken as he looked down to her. “She got me to leave the house to meet a stranger." He caught sight of the waste paper bin, and the pyramid of crumbled designs within. “Been busy?”

Rarity shared his glance before nodding her head with a wry grin. “Well, a lovely stallion just moved in across the way so I thought a nice gift would welcome him. This certain stallion is very considerate, polite, and a knight would you believe?” She leant back onto the desk, pinning the coat down under her hand, tail lashing. Eyes met, sapphire and emerald. “Very accomplished fellow no doubt, very refined in taste, troubling is, he is incredibly shy.”

“A dressmaker’s nightmare, I believe.” Ser Vincent added in order to humour the mare.

She scoffed, feigning offence.

“Excuse me, but I am no humble dressmaker.” She proudly put her hand on her heart, dramatically planting the back of her other hand on her forehead. “I am an artiste, called upon by Princess Cadence herself for the wedding dress and by the Canterlot elite to fulfil their chic fabric needs.” She pointed a playful glare his way before shooting her nose to the ceiling. “Bragging does not befit a lady but it is unwise to dismiss my own accomplishments.” A smouldering smile set on her lips.

He raised his hands in defence. “Pardon my short sighted nature.” Vincent inclined his head in an apologetic manner before resting his hands on the coat. “The reason why ponies become tailors is a mystery to me.” He reflexively tilted his head as he gave her clothes a curious once over. “I believe I have reasonable need of clothing, what about you?”

She dropped the acting for a moment, offering a ghost of a smile, eyes sparkling with a passion brought forth.

“Darling, we all want to be seen for who we are.” She took on a wistful look, dreamily looking ahead at nothing. “A summer dress to perfect the stroll, her stylish bonnet shading her eyes. A cocktail dress of silver and blue, bolstering the courage of a young mare before her lover.” She gazed to her hands, picturing fabric flowing between her fingers. “A suit, starting with the shirt. Loose fitting or taut? Buttoned and cuffed? Professional or informal?” She regarded the knight with a studious glance and a soft grin. “Some ponies just need help making the right impression, to feel comfortable.”

His silence didn’t stop her passionate speech but it was saddening the longer she looked at his current form. ‘How long has he been like this?’ She rested a hand atop his, feeling human fingers tense within the confines of the pony glove. He never took his eyes off her.

“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.” She gave the frozen hand a small squeeze, feeling it relax. “What’s one thing you want the world to know about Ser Vincent?”

Quiet contemplation took him as he simply stared at her ivory hand. She slowly felt the tension dissipate until her fingers interlocked with gloved ones. He then vigorously shook his head. He remembered her touch on his cheek, how it chilled him to the bone.

“I’m not a monster,” he said, brushing her hand aside, “but I can be.”

“I don’t believe that,” she simply responded, shrugging before folding her arms when he looked to her. “That’s what the mask is for, isn’t it? Besides, guess how I know otherwise. Go on.”

“Let’s hear it,” Vincent retorted with honest, blunt scepticism.

“Blueblood likes you, the girls want to know you, I like you, and Sweetie trusts you.” She then looked towards the ceiling, eyeing where the bathroom was upstairs. “And you trusted her.” A memory surfaced as she thought of the link between all the mention parties.

‘Hesitation and reluctance are wrung out as he holds the mask in both his hands, one pony-gloved and the other one human-exposed. His features vary, some soft around the chin, mouth, nose and eyes, whereas the rest is hard and sharply defined. He finally looked to her with sad green eyes but… they were honest.

“I forgive you, Miss Rarity.” He bore no smile. “I would like for you to forget it.” That was it.’

“You were capable of removing your mask for me to absolve my guilt,” she added. Another intriguing thought passed her mind, her expression turning inquisitive. “You’re also fairly close to His Majesty, or so I’ve seen. Surely he must have seen you without your guise at least once. What makes him so special?”

“He’s my closest friend.” He felt his agitation rise but kept his voice calm.

“Is this based upon you letting him see your face?” she pressed.

“He knew me before all this,” he said dismissively with a tap of the mask.

“So what do we do then, Ser Vincent?” She watched him rub the back of his head, seeing him flinch as he felt his gloved hand touch the back of his neck. “Are we supposed to accept you’ll remain hiding behind the mask? We won’t hurt you, but if you ever want to change your first impression here then you should try to show them who you really are.” He turned his entire body towards her but she cut him off. “Bit by bit, you’ll get there.”

She offered a genial smile, “And I’ll gladly help you. My friends undoubtedly also.” Her eyes shifted to the stair case and a small giggle escaped her. “And I do believe that my darling sister will help too.”

He turned to find Miss Belle peeking through the bannister with a hand in the cookie jar expression. With wilted ears and a sheepish grin she crept down. She wore a pink night gown as she made her way over, hoof steps soft on the floor.

“Are you talking about Ser Vincent wearing the mask?” She scuffed her hoof against the wooden floor, arms behind her back, avoiding Rarity’s arched brow.

“You know we are, and that it’s rude to eaves drop.”

“I-I- think you should try,” Sweetie Belle managed as she twiddled her thumbs before her. “You told me that being scared of something should make me want to beat it.” She then steeled herself, glaring up to the knight. “I’ve seen you without your mask and you’re not scary. You can take it off here if you want.” She 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!”

“Phenomenal.” He sighed deeply.

Rarity giggled beside him but he didn’t share her pleasant mood. One never really appreciates having their own words bite their bottom later, and Vincent was starting develop another pain, this time in his backside. He rubbed his temple, halting when gloved fingers met exposed skin.

‘This has been a disaster since day one.’ He migrated towards the door, ignoring both mares. He decided to set the record straight with what he wanted from now on.

“I don’t ask for much,” he said, “and I don’t enjoy wanting for more than I have.” His heavy steps stopped at the door and he looked back over his shoulder. “I’ll… toy with the notion after a long period of time whilst here in town. I certainly hate having ponies feel anxious around me so I’ll be solving that.” He balled a fist tight before releasing the tension. “If need be… I’ll take you up on the offer.

Both unicorns smiled and nodded. And after considering that he had this option at all, he wasn’t certain whether or not he smiled himself beneath the mask. He then shook his head and chuckled, sincere mirth returning to his voice.

“Persuasive pair, aren’t you?” He looked forward and took hold of the door knob.

Rarity spoke with a coquettish smirk, “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?”

He stopped dead as if his whole body had been petrified. His hand tightened around the rattling door knob. ‘That was a poor choice of words.’

Vincent spoke with impeccable cheeriness, “Goodnight, Ladies.” He opened the door and Rarity called out to him.

“Wait! What about your coat? You’ll get—“ Her words died in her mouth as soon as he stepped out into the downpour, his silhouette outlined by moonlight and exploding raindrops. “Wet.” She finished weakly, standing in the doorway where she dared not dampen herself.

“I’d like to take you up on your offer, Miss Rarity,” he said looking over his shoulder. “The one where you try to repair my coat… for now. Pleasant dreams.” He trudged off towards to the bottom of the garden, by which time Sweetie Belle had joined her sister and peaked out.

“Tata for now! Don’t be a stranger,” Rarity called back.

“Bye, Ser Vincent! I had a lot of fun today,” Sweetie exclaimed with a wave of her hand. To both mare’s surprise they heard him bark with laughter as he disappeared into the night. Sweetie looked up to Rarity, ears wilted. “Do you think we should let him try to fit in on his own?”

“Oh absolutely not,” Rarity said patting her sister on top of her freshly shampooed mane, “Let him have his way but we’ll help out as much as we can.” She then heard her little sister’s stomach growl. “Come on, it’s time to eat.”

Epilogue

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 Note

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

Prologue

Author's Note

So here is the sequel of 'Knight to B4', and I cannot stress how important it is to read the first story of the series in order to understand the world this is set in. In short: Anthro ponies are tastefully nudists. No rude or explicit material will be described in this story-- Cover art aids in pony structure, but they are typically naked so this picture suffices...

Also it is really, really hard to find 'Safe' rated anthro pics for MLP, especially ones with a natural blase attitude to being naked and with having a three digit hand. Seriously... this adorable little number was like a finding out the needle was crooked in that filthy haystack.

As always, please comment and like if you favourite. Feedback is always welcomed. And now back to the story...

Prologue

The only thing left to fill the space of the now barren walls of Ser Vincent’s old room was a stifling silence and specks of airborne dust. He stood in the centre simply listening to nothing. He tuned out the specialised crew that carried the last of his alchemy supplies and equipment away, his gloved hand flexing.

He felt a lot of things inside; layers of armour pressed tightly to his form, his breath condensing in the muzzle space of his mask, and he felt the familiar sharp pressure between his middle finger and the ring finger, where the pony glove split his human fingers into pairs. These were external sensations and if he focused on these things he could quell the harrowing inner storm. A good calming exercise for one who needed a level head: identify what is and what wasn’t important right now.

He was to be stationed in Ponyville in order to maximise response time and to protect Princess Twilight Sparkle. That was his mission. The fact that the princess was the Element of Magic and was more than capable of defending herself was to be, for duty’s sake, deemed irrelevant. Even most of Princess Celestia’s guard held similar thoughts of their charge up until the wedding incident. He had a job and he had to do it.

His gloved fist tightened.

His sense of solitude had been thrown into disarray, and he deemed personal feelings insignificant. He preferred his own company or a small company of his choosing, i.e. those he trusted for one reason or another. He had far more acquaintances he could refer to if he was so in need. Nopony to stare, nopony to gawk, nopony to fret or fear him for what he was because he was away from the world, here, in his private sanctuary.

A long sigh escaped him, breaking the thick silence.

Now? Solitude would turn to isolation. His friends, what few he could count on actual pony hands, would be miles away. The town was full of ponies that were wary of him. Images of over shoulder glances flooded his mind’s eye, the redundancy of a mask breaking to the surface as it dissolved to reveal him staring intently forward. A vain attempt not to feel their judging stares.

Vincent breathed in, he felt the scales and plates slide easily, felt tension leave his unfurled hands.

‘Mission first, myself second. Get it together, this is nothing a knight should be falling apart over.’

His hood shifted as he glanced to the window normally obscured by the wardrobe where he kept his casual clothes. The light would fall onto the bed that was no longer there, and so instead fell onto the cold floor. He had forgotten just how large his room actually was.

The floorboards squeaked and whispered as his heavy steps accompanied him to the window. He fought with the lock—flubbing thing always jammed—and opened up the portal to allow crisp Canterlot air in. He leant out, resting his viridian elbows on the sill.

He’s spent days, weeks, months, and given his time in Saddle Arabia and Zebrica, a year at a time away from this room. A space that he identified as his own, a dwelling worthy of high social standing in the capital’s castle, a nest adorned with his respectable achievements; a home tailored by his history and for him through potions, poisons, spilled blood, cold sweat, and a burning ambition rivalling the worst of infernos.

…Gone.

Simply picked up and moved away without him, to a town he’d rather avoid. This was his den away from the natives. He spent his entire life pushing against walls until they were big enough for him. This was one place he could truly catch his breath. To pursue and apply the faithful love of his life: alchemy. The only place in Equestria that the Equestrian human truly belonged: the sanctuary of The Nopony.

‘It’s amazing how empty it actually is.’ The thought lingered as Vincent removed the mask, popping the timber hood back over his head after. He gazed into its blank stare and saw nought but the Canterlot Gardens far below. A soothing breeze filtered through the bristles of his exposed chin, cooling him as his thumb fondly slid over the cheek of the stallion mask.

He raised his head to look beyond the city and towards the incredible morning landscape of this beautiful country. The light caught his soft chin, highlighting his defined jaw. Vincent’s apprehension was outstandingly obvious, the fear in his malachite eyes barely subdued.

Another thing he hadn’t realised he had developed due to wearing the mask for so long: hiding behind his facial shell had made any attempt to hide his emotions fail miserably. He could lie impeccably through his voice but one glance at his face exposed all.

He hung his head, a fringe of earthly hair hanging past the hood, and groaned with eyes shut tightly.

“I don’t suppose this will be quick and easy without any complications, will it?” He had another feeling deep inside: somehow, he knew what the answer was and he didn’t like it one bit.