Moonlight bathed the courtyard as Luna rested her eyes to the calming melody of of a suite. The acoustics of the area were unusually well-suited to such performances she had learned some months ago, and had since made this nightly playing a regular occurrence. It was one of few indulgences she could take often, and made full use of its availability. The mare who played for her was, in some ways, a strange case. She felt as if she both knew her intimately and invited a stranger into her home. She communicated through her cello as vibrantly and beautifully as she imagined anypony was capable of, but words spoken by her were usually few and short. She often studied the cellist as she played with her eyes closed with her immaculately groomed dark gray mane wafting ever so slightly in the very light breezes that punctuated summer nights in Canterlot. She stood on her hind legs and played with a precision and a grace of movement that overflowed passion in ways that her words did not; in ways that her words could not. The princess could not help but wonder about the beautiful lavender-eyed mare. She was full of grace, poise, and a natural talent aside from being among the first to seamlessly welcome her back into society. She was quiet and breathtaking and, in her own way, the most exceptionally expressive pony she had ever encountered. Every session, the princess told her to play anything she pleased. She would be fine with repeats. She would be fine with the same song every week if it suited her, she told her. Yet every session, Octavia played a new suite. Each varied, each long and creative. Some of them classics, some of them compositions that the princess had not known of, but always full of the dignity and beauty that had given her pause during the first playing.
The piece eventually faded, and once the bow had been separated from the instrument for the last time that evening, the princess stood and energetically clopped her hooves onto the ground. She never had before, but she had, across many sessions, felt a growing desire to, despite the quiet tone she and the cellist always had.
The celloist blushed and smiled. She wasn't sure why. She had received thunderous, uproarious applause from stadiums and seas of polite approval from large ballrooms. She even played the Grand Galloping Gala every year. For some nameless reason, however, Princess Luna's singularly enthusiastic approval made her feel warm. She took her bow, and began to pack her instrument, as not to get so lost in that feeling that she forget her manners. The princess stopped her.
"Octavia, wait."
She turned around, perplexed. While enjoyable, their nights had always been rather uniform. She would come to the courtyard to find the waiting princess. She would play. The princess would smile and nod in approval. She would leave. She did not mind, but she felt confused and was not good at hiding it. She rested on all hooves and wore a curious expression.
"We would like a moment of thy time. We wish to know more of thou."
"I...certainly, Princess. What would you like to know?"
"One thing, in particular. A curiosity, after seeing much of your playing."
"Yes, Princess?"
"Thou always play with such a strong passion. Dost thou have somepony thou would label as...precious? Special, singularly?"
Octavia looked stunned by the question. Baffled that she would ask so bluntly. She turned her face away from Luna's sheepishly. Luna, feeling concern, began to dismiss her question when she got her answer.
"Yes."
The cellist was looking at her again, though she looked all the world for her like she was afraid of being judged for what she would say, or nervous of speaking of it at all. Luna smiled and pressed her front hoof very gently over her head.
"Tell us."
The simple gesture seemed to have calmed her immensely and after a slow breath, she continued.
"She is...different. Far more different than most kinds of sense would dictate, for somepony this close. She has often made me angry. She is curious, loud, and has many tendencies I find obnoxious. She has, however, always been by my side. When I misstep, she is there. When I succeed, when I fail, when I think the world is ending, she is there. She is confident and creative, and has both kindness and strength that seem...immeasurable. She has been my truest friend, and...for me she is, even in strange glasses, the very vision of a majestic swan, its wings spread wide and proud, white as winter's snow."
That answer seemed to satisfy the princess, who now smiled apparently out of joy for her subject. She closed her eyes almost wistfully for but a moment before patting her gently on the head again.
"We are glad for you. You may go, now."
"Princess?"
"Yes?"
"May I play one more piece before I leave?"
"Of course. Your playing warms our heart. It would be our pleasure."
With that, the cellist happily pulled her Cello up again and stood to play one last song. A nameless song that had not existed, which sprung forth from Octavia, bidden by feelings strong and deep. She wore her customary stoic expression throughout, but she felt joy in her final song, which she vowed to later name Vinyl Scratch.
When that, too, faded, the princess nodded and the cellist left without a word. It was a calm, happy silence. The princess went about her duties of the night and the cellist began her walk home with instrument in tow. As she strolled slowly through the midsummer night, she reflected upon where this tradition began. It was a concert she had practiced for many months. It had been her solo debut and she had many emotions swirling madly until she stepped front and center, where one thought remained.
I will play for any who will listen.
The playing was brief before a statuesque dark alicorn opened the doors to the hall and, with a thunderous voice that seemed to command lightning behind her, stated her intent to be here. In short order, all fled. All except the dark blue alicorn with the flowing mane and regal posture.
The cellist regarded her as a curiosity, silently. The princess stood near the door of the concert hall, though her eyes remained fixed intently on her. After few minutes of this, Octavia closed her eyes and resumed playing. She played the entire concert, and the princess took in every note. When approached many nights later and asked why she did not run, why she kept playing her cello when others shouted "Nightmare Moon", she could only reply, succinctly,
"You listened."
The princess seemed pleased by the response, and told her that she would like to listen more. Such had begun the unusual performances and some of her most relaxing, despite the prestige of them.
She pondered this and more as she trotted home, though thoughts of work and art, of royalty and distinction had a way of evaporating when she was finally home and laying happily beside a white unicorn whom she poured as much passion into as her cello.
