Symphony for Moon and Sun

by GrassAndClouds2

Rating: everyone
Tags: Sad, Lyra, Princess Luna, Original Character, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Octavia, Fleur de Lis, Slice of Life, Alternate Universe
Length: 42825

Lyra must help Octavia play a piece of forbidden music. Both will be ruined if she fails.

Octavia Philharmonica has betrayed her friends and allied with the corrupt nobles of Luna's Court, but her usefulness is at an end. After a discovered attempt to redeem herself and save her friends from the politicians, she finds herself compelled to play the infamous Symphony for Moon and Sun -- a piece from which no musician's career has ever escaped intact. Princess Luna hates the piece and shuns anypony who dares play it, and no venue will host a pony shunned by the princess of Equestria. In her desperate straits, her only hope is the aid of her former student Lyra Heartstrings... but not only is Lyra still feeling the effects of Octavia's betrayal, but Octavia isn't even sure that she deserves the help. Can Lyra get through to her former teacher and help her survive the most important performance of her career? Or will both of them find their careers crashing to a premature end? Lunaverse story.

Published 2012-07-24 08:24:01 UTC
Last updated 2012-08-04 13:18:00 UTC

Opening themes

“Okay, so Octavia’s about to kill her own career?”

Lyra hadn’t wanted to eat, but Bonbon had absolutely refused to let her panic on an empty stomach, so Lyra had reluctantly wolfed down some pancakes. That done, the two mares had then moved to the living room. Bonbon had tried to get Lyra to sit down, but the green mare was too agitated and just kept pacing around. “I don’t know!” she said. “I mean, I don’t even know who sent me this invitation! For all I know, this is fake or a really sick joke! But if it’s true—“

Bonbon hesitated. “Lyra, dear, she betrayed you. She tried to trick you into working for the Court. I’m not sure you should--”

“I know, but still – she would never do this, something’s really wrong” Lyra began pacing faster. “I don’t understand any of this. There’s nothing in the world she likes more than performing, so she’d never throw away her career like this! Greengrass doesn’t have enough money in the world to make it worth it for her – Hay, Luna doesn’t either. Is it some kind of scam, or…”

Bonbon pulled Lyra into an embrace. “Alright. We’ll figure it out, okay? But not by panicking.”

Lyra took a few deep breaths. “…yes, of course. Right.”

“So – why would she do it?” mused Bonbon. “First option. Maybe she really thinks she can pull it off, and she wants to be the only mare that ever did it. I mean, she’s working for Greengrass. Maybe his ambition rubbed off on her.”

“She wouldn’t think she could do what everypony in nine hundred years couldn’t. She’s really good, but she’s not arrogant like that. Even if she did, she wouldn’t take the risk.”

“Then maybe she found the ending somehow,” suggested Bonbon. “Maybe what Luna doesn’t like is that the later performances don’t have the right final movement. If she has it, she might think she can play it without making Luna angry.”

“It’s been gone for nine hundred years, at least according to the legends,” said Lyra. “I doubt she has it.”

“Could Greengrass have gotten it for her?”

“I don’t know how he could have it either.”

Bonbon hesitated. “Well, maybe it really is just some dumb prank. Some jerk who wants to panic you.”

“That could be…” Lyra smiled, although it was rather wan. “I hope that’s all it is.”

“Why don’t we write the concert hall and see if she’s really playing?”

“But if it is a prank, they might even have scheduled a fake booking. It’s been known to happen,” said Lyra. “Maybe I should write Octavia herself and ask.”

“Okay,” said Bonbon. “We’ll—“

“Wait, no, that won't work. Trixie mentioned that Greengrass is probably watching her mail, since she’s one of his agents that’s also close to his enemies. He’ll interfere.” Lyra paused. “I guess I could go and ask her in person. I know where she lives, after all.”

“Lyra. There’s another possibility. That this whole thing is a trap to lure you to Canterlot,” said Bonbon. “Once you’re there, it will be a lot easier for Greengrass or any other noble to get you.”

“But what if it’s not? What if she’s in real trouble?”

Bonbon paused, and then snuggled close to her marefriend. “Lyra, please don’t do anything rash. Please. If you get hurt or something, I don’t know what I’ll do.”

Lyra hugged Bonbon. “I don’t have any intention of getting hurt. But… if you were in danger, I’d fight any monster to rescue you.”

Bonbon smiled a little. “You already did, remember?”

“It’s just who I am. I know Octavia hurt me, and I know that, if she’d succeeded, she might even have torn us apart. But she was my closest friend in Canterlot for years. She taught me so much of what I know. I wouldn’t be half as good as I am today without her. And if you’d met her then…” Lyra paused. “All she really wants to do is perform her music for others. When she was at the university, she was one of the most selfless mares I knew. She practiced endlessly because she felt it was her absolute duty to play the best possible music for her audiences. Any less would be disrespectful to the music itself, and to the ponies who wanted to listen to it. I can’t believe she’s changed so much that she doesn’t care about that anymore. Maybe Greengrass led her astray, but she can’t be totally corrupted. She’s worth rescuing if she needs it.”

“I hope you’re right.”

Lyra nodded. “I’m going to go to Canterlot.”

“Not without a plan,” said Bonbon, hastily.

“But—“

“No. I am not letting you run off without a clue, especially if this might be a trap.” Bonbon shook her head. “… I won’t stop you from going, but we’re going to do this right. I will ask the theater and the papers if this concert is really happening. You’ll set up a place to stay, train tickets, everything. And you’ll write Octavia.”

“But—“

“If you wander into some Court trap, that won’t help Octavia! It’ll just hurt you – and me too. If you get hurt, Lyra, I’ll… I’ll…” Bonbon looked away. “Like I said. I don’t know what I’ll do.”

Lyra hesitated, then hugged Bonbon as tightly as she could. “Alright,” she said. “We’ll plan it out. Octavia is strong, she can last two days without me. We’ll get everything set up, okay? Don’t worry.”

“Good.” Bonbon smiled. “Please be careful…”

“I will. And hey, hopefully, this is all some dumb joke and I’ll be back a few hours later. It’s just, if it’s not…”

“What will you do?”

“Octavia’s my friend, or at least, she was.” Lyra looked out the window, in the direction of Canterlot. “I’ll do whatever I have to do to save her.”

Octavia shut the door behind her agent, and then – permitting herself a rare moment of weakness – sank to the ground in a heap.

It is over, she thought. I lose. Nothing can save me now.

Her agent had just quit. He had informed her that she might be arrogant and foalish enough to risk everything in a lunatic scheme, but he wouldn’t be joining her. Yes, he’d been raking in buckets of bits from her – ever since she became the hot commodity at Court, the other ponies were outbidding each other in an effort to secure her services – but that didn’t matter, and she couldn’t even really blame him. It didn’t matter either that she hadn’t signed up for the concert and that it had just been announced in the papers and magazines as if by magic. All that counted was that she was playing a piece of music that could not be played, and anypony who was associated with the performance would suffer.

She had contacted the most talented of her colleagues and peers, thinking that, perhaps, they could help or advise her. They were all experts in their crafts, and many of them had to be familiar with the Symphony. If nothing else, they could point her to resources on the missing ending, maybe let her know of analyses of the piece that they’d seen in dusty old books. But the reputation of the piece was such that few of them had studied it, and none at all were willing to discuss it. “I wish I could,” said Trumpeteer, one of Canterlot’s young star brass players, “But you know the story behind that piece. Anypony that helps you play it is going to be in trouble.”

“…I recall you promising me a favor when I filled in for your ill cellist at Archduke Fisher’s banquet.”

“Yeah… and I meant it… but this isn’t just a favor. I’m not going to risk my career on this. Sorry, Octavia.”

She’d had a few recitals scheduled for the next two weeks, but they had all been quickly canceled by the organizers, her substantial cancellation fees paid without question. The Music Academy had informed her that, not only was her lecture being rescheduled (for a date ‘to be determined’), but that she was no longer welcome on the premises. And Greengrass, of course, was suddenly ‘unavailable’ when she tried to see him.

At this rate, Luna won’t even need to formally shun me. I am ruined anyway.

But that was all the whining she would allow herself. It was her own fault, she reminded herself, for getting involved with the Duke in the first place. She’d gladly taken the concerts he’d given her in payment for her treachery; she had no right to complain about suddenly having to pay for them. If she could never perform again, it was no more than she deserved, the punishment of a mare who had forgotten honesty and taken a shortcut to success.

She had, after all, had the option of trying to have a legitimate career. That was what other musicians did, at least the good ones. They practiced hard and built up their talents, they started small, played flawlessly, and grew famous by word of mouth. There were musicians, she knew, who had no patrons, who were desired by all the world due solely to their ability and not their ability to please some political master. Octavia could have been one of them. She’d chosen otherwise.

Besides, there is little point in struggling to alter something I cannot change. I can play, or I can cancel – or just not show up. But it’s all the same. To cancel on Luna Herself would be almost as bad as playing that song before her, and skipping out would be the worst option of the three. Octavia sighed. No matter what I do, I am finished. I cannot even take solace in a memorable final performance, because the papers and ponies will never praise anything Luna detests. They won’t admit they like it even to themselves. The performance will be lost like the others: no recordings, no reviews, nothing but deafening silence.

She didn’t know what she was going to do, so she decided to at least start practicing. That way, if she did decide to go through with the piece, she would be ready (as if it mattered). So she struggled to her hooves and, slowly, made her way to her cello. The practice room in the castle: that was her goal. That room was soundproofed, completely isolated from all the other ponies that were now expecting – some eagerly awaiting – her fall. She had to get away from all of them. Then she could play.

The walk to the castle itself was unusually quiet; ponies avoided her as if she was a condemned prisoner. No fans sought her autographs, and not one pony begged her to give her a moment of her time so that they could try to persuade her to play at one of their little soirees or dances. Even the guards seemed standoffish, like she had already offended their master somehow. Normally, Octavia wished that she didn’t have to deal with so many ponies bothering her as she made her way up to her tower; now, she found that she desperately wished one of them would at least say hello.

But then she was in the solitude of her tower, and she hesitated slightly before unpacking her cello. How many hours had she spent perfecting her mastery of this instrument? How many sleepless nights, bloodshot mornings, marathon sessions that lasted from before dawn until far past dusk? And not just lack of sleep – what other privations had she enforced upon herself? Rigorous exercise, strict diet, abstention from any unhealthy food – she had not tasted candy in years, and only drank chocolate or ate baked sweets to reward herself for a successful performance – and the sacrifice of anything approaching a social life, all for the pursuit of her music. And now that was to be taken from her. She could play, certainly, but never again for any kind of audience. Not for the ponies she wanted to reach, to delight, to move.

All that, and all for nothing. A musician with no audience is only a dreamer. I… I do not think I will wake up from this dream.

But she had no time to complain. She had a piece to master, and that wasn’t going to happen if she stood around feeling sorry for herself. That it couldn’t be mastered was immaterial; if she was going to play it (and she very well might), she was going to play it to the best of her ability. She didn’t have it in her to do anything else.

So she set up the score, picked up her cello, raised up her bow, and began to play the first notes of the Symphony for Moon and Sun.

Meeting in Canterlot

Lyra hadn’t wanted to wait, but at Bonbon’s urging she accepted a two-day delay as a compromise between ‘leaving immediately’ and ‘not going’. So she’d written Octavia a long letter telling her that she would probably be coming to visit. She’d also set up reservations at a hotel, bought train tickets, and made the other necessary logistics arrangements. Soon, she was all set to take a weeks’ journey to Canterlot.

She’d considered asking the other Elements for help, but there was nothing they could really do. If the Symphony was really happening, Lyra was the only one with the necessary music skills to help Octavia. And if politics were involved… well, Trixie did have some knowledge of that field, but from what Lyra knew, her presence would likely just make them both targets of the nobles. Better to try to stay out of sight when she went to see Octavia.

Lyra also did as much research as she could on the Symphony, though of course she was limited by not having access to the Canterlot libraries or the Music Academy archives. She couldn’t get a score for the work in Ponyville, but she was able to dig up some old scholarly analyses of the work from ancient newspapers and journals. It was every bit as complicated as she remembered, and she spent hours locked in her room, studying the texts and trying to work out the best approach to performing the piece which was not to be performed.

And finally, the day came. Bonbon received confirmation from the concert hall – Octavia was indeed slated to play the Symphony for Moon and Sun. The newspapers and magazines from Canterlot were buzzing with the news; apparently the vast majority of the Court was now expected to attend, and the few remaining tickets were being sold at prices that even the rich could scarcely afford. ‘This may well be,’ one paper said, ‘The only chance in any of our lifetimes to hear the infamous piece as performed by a master of her craft!” If it was a prank, it was one that had fooled the entire press corps.

It was thus that Lyra found herself on the Ponyville train station, waiting with Bonbon for the one o’clock to Canterlot. Bonbon hugged Lyra goodbye. “Be careful,” she urged. “Please.”

“I will.” Lyra looked nervous, but resolute all the same. “I promise.”

The train arrived, and Lyra soon found herself en route to Canterlot.

“What time is it?”

It’s almost up, thought Octavia. But she only said, “Five minutes past eight.”

She’d been shut up in her practice room for the past two days, only leaving to grab hasty meals at a small, shabby restaurant whose single greatest virtue was that the staff didn’t stare and whisper while she ate. Rather than take the time to go home to sleep, she slept on the practice room floor; for grooming she used an old, forgotten public bathroom in the castle. She knew, intellectually, that she didn’t have any idea how to play the piece in a way that would please Luna, but the relentless practice at least allowed her to distract herself from that issue.

But it wasn’t much of a distraction, because the practicing wasn’t going well. Octavia had always prided herself on her ability to perform without letting her own emotions influence her music, but her turmoil was such that even she found it a chore to concentrate on what she was doing. She was slowly mastering the sequences of notes, the intricate rhythms, the multiple voices which stretched to the very limits of the cello’s range, but she was completely unable to connect with the piece. It might as well have been a random assortment of notes for all a listener would be able to tell.

Now she was on her way back from the restaurant, slowly climbing the stairs to get to her practice room up in the tower. The pony who had asked her time, a youngish pegasus page, was literally the only pony she’d spoken with besides her waiter since her agent had quit. In other circumstances, she could have seen the silence as a kind of vacation. As it was, though, it was only a further reminder of what she’d have to look forward to after the performance was over.

Enough whining. I’m not a foal. Back to work, she thought. She wanted to go over the first movement several more times before the end of the day. It was the one that would introduce the main voices, so it would need to be as clear as possible – while maintaining all the ornaments and intricacies, of course. If she got through that, she could start the second movement. The third and fourth would have to wait a day or two… and she still had no idea where to even start with writing an ending.

“So I should begin as soon as I can,” she muttered, as she entered the practice room and locked the door behind her. She picked up her cello, hefted the bow, and began to play. And what followed could, technically, be called music.

The first voice, which Octavia understood to represent the Equestrian citizens, began and continued for a while, representing that the ponies were doing things. And it was happy, indicating that the things were going well. And then came the second voice, Celestia, and she also did things. Now she had to get ready for the third voice, Luna, who would also have things to do, and…

This isn’t working, thought Octavia, as she tried all the harder to push past her own fears and worries and other feelings and find the emotion in the piece. It was there, it probably wasn’t even hard to find, and if the stakes weren’t quite so high, she’d probably be able to grasp it easily. But as it was…

She heard a tone behind her from just in front of the chamber’s door.

Turning in disbelief – that wall was perfectly soundproofed, and no music could penetrate it – she saw nothing in front of the door. But on the other side of it, visible through the window, was a green hoof waving around.

What?!

Octavia went to the door, opened it, and could only stare at the pony who was waiting for her.

“Lyra?”

As Octavia approached the door, Lyra tried to push aside her stress and frustration. It wasn’t easy, but she did try.

It had taken forever to find the cellist, for one thing. She hadn’t been home, hadn’t been there in over a day according to her neighbors, and wasn’t in any of her usual practice rooms or restaurants either. She’d looked for hours before lucking into finding a pony that could help her – a tallish white unicorn who said that he’d seen a gray mare with a cello in one of Canterlot Castle’s towers.

Then came the joys of actually getting into the castle. She could understand why she had to sign in, and be scanned, and even searched, but it took forever. She tried to speed things up by saying that she was a friend of Representative Lulamoon – in a technical sense, this could be considered Element-related business, after all – but then things seemed to just drag on even longer, to the point where Lyra wondered if Trixie had somehow offended a bigwig in the guards. It was past dinner by the time she was cleared to move on.

And then, lastly, she had to actually find Octavia. Nopony that she asked seemed to know where Octavia’s practice room was, as Lyra had been expecting, so she had to search by hoof all the tower rooms that weren’t marked as being used for something else. By the time she came to Octavia’s tower, she was quite exhausted. And by the time she found Octavia’s room, she was ready for a cold drink and a long nap.

But she’d found it at last. She verified this by standing as high up as she could on her hind legs, allowing her to just barely peak through the window and see the back of Octavia’s head. Sighing with relief, Lyra knocked.

Of course, the room was soundproofed.

After about a solid minute of pounding away, none of which Octavia seemed to hear – and Lyra couldn’t hear the cellist either, even though her motions indicated that she was playing a very loud piece -- Lyra decided to go to plan B. Summoning a magical musical note wasn’t too difficult, so she focused the spell on a spot just through the door, then cast. Unfortunately, that was how she found out that the door had an anti-magic spell, probably to prevent magical eavesdropping. So Lyra had to cast the spell again, this time putting in enough raw power to push through the magical barrier – quite a bit, as it turned out. That left Lyra dizzy and spent, but it at least got the cellist’s attention.

As Octavia turned and approached the door, Lyra attempted once more to banish her weariness. She was here to talk to Octavia. Her own problems at getting there didn’t matter. She would apologize for her disheveled state, and—

Octavia opened the door, and Lyra completely forgot about her day.

Physically, Octavia looked fine, like she’d just woken up from a nap. Her coat was smooth and unruffled, her back unbowed, her legs straight, even her mane and tail had retained their characteristic smoothness despite the circumstances. But, there was still something off about the cellist, something indicating a sort of exhaustion… no, not exhaustion. Hopelessness. It was her eyes, Lyra decided. Her eyes were wandering all over, like she couldn’t be bothered to focus on anything for more than a second or too.

Lyra had never seen Octavia despair before, but she knew that was what she was seeing. Octavia took great pride in facing any difficulty without flinching away from it; she scorned the weakness that might make other ponies cringe or look away. And now, the mere act of talking to Lyra seemed to be almost beyond her, sending her searching for some escape. Lyra’s stomach turned. Tavi…

“Lyra?” the cellist managed.

“Octavia… what happened to you?”

It couldn’t just be that the practicing was tiring her. Lyra had seen Octavia go for days without rest to master difficult pieces, and even then she’d retained her fundamental sense of poise. Octavia seemed spent on a deeper level, somehow. This was new, and not a good sign.

“Lyra, what are you doing here?” managed Octavia. “Why did you come?”

“I got an invitation to your next concert.” Lyra paused. “Octavia, what’s going on? Why are you playing the Symphony for Moon and Sun?”

Octavia looked away. “It doesn’t matter why, Lyra. You know that.”

“You can’t play that piece. You know the history.”

“And yet I must. I cannot cancel on Luna Herself.” Octavia smiled, but it was bitter. “There is no way out of this. If you came to persuade me to take one, I am sorry that your trip was in vain. I hope you have a safe trip back to Ponyville.”

She moved to shut the door, but Lyra stuck out a hoof and blocked her from closing it. “Octavia, talk to me! I need to know what’s going on.”

Octavia shrugged. “I am paying for the mistake I made in betraying you. That is all there is to it. I don’t deserve your pity.”

“Nopony deserves this—“

“I said, I don’t need your pity,” said Octavia, in a slightly stronger voice. “You don’t need to lie to me.”

Lyra paused, thinking of what to do. She had to find out what was really going on. “How long has it been since you’ve had a decent meal?”

“I ate twenty minutes ago.”

“I said ‘a decent meal,’ not whatever junk the local canteen serves. I know how you get.”

“Lyra, you know that I don’t care about things like that when the music—“

“Well, I do.” Lyra smiled a little. “Let’s get something real to eat, Tavi.”

“I – first of all, please, my name is Octavia. And second, I don’t have time. If I’m to have any hope of mastering this work, I cannot spend the time it would take to order food in a fancy, sit-down restaurant.”

“You won’t master it if you’re exhausted either. You taught me that physical condition is a crucial component of any performance. That includes a proper diet.” Lyra went over to Octavia and gently steered her out the door. “Come on. Won’t be an hour.”

Octavia hesitated, and then followed Lyra.

(Bonus) The first attempt: Concerti Brilliante

One hundred years after Corona's banishment

Concerti Brilliante looked out at the audience and grinned. This was going to be the performance of his career!

Finding that score had been a huge stroke of luck; two weeks before the grandest celebration of the decade, him on deck to perform, and with nothing whatsoever to play, he’d been starting to feel a slight sense of panic. But he just did what he always did when he had no inspiration. He went to the music library, slipped into the back vault, and went to search amongst the old and forgotten manuscripts.

There was a lot of unsorted, unshelved, practically unknown music in that vault. When the Courts burned and froze in the fury of the battle between Luna and Corona, the music library had taken a hit from some spell or other and been more or less smashed flat. A lot of scores had been destroyed, and in the ensuing panic – followed by the twelve somewhat odd years that had followed, the near-abandonment of the capitol, and general chaos – nopony had bothered to keep track of music, old or new. Now that the land was finally healing, that was changing, but until about twenty years ago, most music – whether found in the wreckage of Canterlot, or written fresh – had just been dumped into the library’s back vault, waiting for the day when ponies could go through and catalogue everything.

The forgotten works of the past. Was there any better inspiration?

And as soon as Concerti had seen the score, he’d known this was the piece to play. Even setting aside that it was a lost work of the great Maestro, the theme of the work was perfectly suited to the celebration The party was to be a gigantic thank-you to Luna, a night to honor her victory over her psychotic sister and her saving of every pony’s life. And this was a piece about that very subject! Perfection!

Concerti raised his bow. Looking out at the crowd, he saw, to his satisfaction, that every important pony was there. The industrial leaders (at least, insofar as Equestria still had real industry), the rich ponies, the Night Court nobles, and, of course, Luna Herself. She would, Concerti thought, be so pleased to hear this rendition of the piece. She might well appoint him the Greatest Musician in the Land on the spot!

“Fillies and gentlecolts,” he said. “Thank you so much for your attention. The piece I will play has not been performed in a very long time. Though the date is inexact, judging by the style, I would estimate that it was written about twenty years after the victory that we are all gathered here to celebrate. To the best of my knowledge, it was never played subsequently. I am pleased to present for you this once-lost work of the great composer Maestro – the Symphony for Moon and Sun!”

Luna had a very… odd expression. Tense. Nervous. Concerti thought. She looked like she was worried. Well, that made a little sense – Maestro had been friends with Luna, he’d heard, and she was probably worried that he’d botch her companion’s piece. But that wasn’t a problem. He was Concerti Brilliante, and he had unparalled musical ability. He could play anything.

The piece went great. Concerti grinned as he drew the fourth movement to a close. This was the tricky part – he hadn’t been able to find the score for the fifth movement, so he’d had to write it himself – but he felt he’d done Luna justice.

And so he played.

It was a strong, almost blasting movement, but with enough skill to prevent it from becoming a wall of sound. Luna’s theme rose in strength (this was the point in the story when Luna obtained the power of the Elements) and beat back at her sister’s. Celestia’s theme flailed helplessly, but what could it do? Luna was righteous and strong – and that was what mattered. All Celestia had was her madness.

Strength, he thought, letting his feelings flow into his music. Yes, strength. That word, more than any other, describes Princess Luna. Let this song be a testament to her great might! Let her realize that we -- that I -- recognize her vast power and pay tribute to it!

Luna’s theme swelled even more, seeming to strain the limits of Concerti’s range, and then, with a dramatic cadence, moved up and crushed Corona’s. There was no hesitation in it, no sign of weakness. Princess Luna Equestris would fight evil, and win handily. That was who she was.

The piece finished on a glorious rising section, celebrating Luna’s victory and her triumph over the wicked day. Concerti played the final note, brought his bow up, and bowed.

There was no applause.

Instead, everypony was staring at Luna – Luna looking, Concerti thought, like she probably did when fighting Corona. She was wreathed in some kind of blue fire and her eyes blazed with wrath.

“Is that,” she said, in a low voice, “What thou thinkst of me and my sister? Is that what thou hast brought me here to listen to?!” Her voice was rising. “How DARE thee?”

“My – my princess?” gasped Concerti.

Luna turned around.

“Wait, come back! What’s wrong?” began Concerti.

“Speak not to me.” hissed Luna. “If that is all thou thinkst I am, then that is all I shall be to thee. Should thy life be threatened by some monster, Concerti, I shall defend thee.” She turned, eyes flashing. “And, should that not happen, I never wish to hear thee again!”

And with a flash of magic, she was gone.

Old Friends

“Octavia, please, tell me what’s going on. I’m worried about you.”

They were at a fancy restaurant, concealed in a back booth. The salads had arrived and Octavia was eating – primly, yet clearly still hungrily. It had been, Lyra thought, far too long since Octavia had eaten a full meal.

“There is little to tell. The Duke discovered that I was helping Lulamoon.” Octavia sighed. “At least, I surmise that is what happened. All I know is that, a few days after contacting her about Moonlit, he would not see me, and I found myself scheduled to play the Symphony for Moon and Sun. It was in every paper and on every bulletin board in the city. An impersonator of me even gave a brief press conference and swore that she would not only play the piece, but would move the Princess to tears. There was no possible way to head off that lie before every pony in the city believed it.”

“Wait. Why did you help Trixie? I thought you hated her.”

“I do. It was not for her sake. I was… convinced by a certain friend… that I might be able to do something for you, to make up in some small way for my betrayal. I wrote Lulamoon to tell her when Greengrass was sending agents to Ponyville; that was how she knew of Flim and Flam, and also Moonlit.” Octavia paused. “Please do not think that this was some act of moral courage on my part. Lulamoon was blackmailing me anyway.”

Lyra paused. There was a strange note in Octavia’s voice. Was she… lying? If so, she’s really out of practice. “Was that why you were helping us? Because Trixie was blackmailing you?”

“Yes.”

“Octavia…”

Octavia blushed and looked away. “I… alright. I was not really planning on giving in to Lulamoon at first; she lacks the political acuity to successfully blackmail a tree stump. But, as I said, I was convinced that I could perhaps do something to help you.”

“And Greengrass is punishing you for that?” Lyra shook her head. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner? I could have been out here—“

“No.” Lyra blinked, it was the first time she’d heard real strength in Octavia’s voice since arriving in Canterlot. “Lyra. First of all, there is nothing you can do. Second, even if there was, I will not ask you to suffer for my mistakes. I would not be in this position had I not taken Greengrass as my patron. That I am suffering is nopony’s fault but mine, and I will not ask you to share in that.” She paused. “I am at least not so corrupt as to try to reduce my misery by sharing it with another.”

Not knowing how to respond to the second point, Lyra tackled the first. “Can’t you just withdraw?”

“The Princess will be attending. If I cancel now, I will have snubbed her. It will be almost as bad as if I had played the piece.”

“Then – then get sick, or break your foreleg or something. Or cursed – I know, there’s a plant near Ponyville called poison joke. It wears off in a week, no long-term affects, but during that week you’ll be cursed, and you won’t be able to perform! Or, if you don’t want to do that, we could damage the theater, or—“

“Lyra.” Octavia looked down. “I am… aware… I could forestall my fall for a short while with some gimcrack tale. I could feign a terrible illness, a family emergency… vandalize the theater… I have many options. But I won’t. Setting aside that Greengrass will not let me off that easily, that I know now that I cannot hope to beat him at his own game, I am only in this position in the first place because of my own dishonesty and dishonor. I am done with that. I will accept my punishment and not try to wriggle away from it. I will either perform, or I will formally cancel. I will not lie.”

Lyra knew that Octavia was hard on herself. It was, the gray mare had explained, how she had become such a capable musician – she did not accept the excuses the other musicians did, about small errors being acceptable due to things like tuning, or environment, or exhaustion in the musician. But this was extreme, even for her. Lyra felt a sense of burning hatred towards Greengrass, who had messed up her friend so badly. “Octavia. I’m going to find some way to help you.”

Octavia smiled, but it was a sad smile. “I cannot be helped. And… Lyra, please, I do not want you to lie to yourself, even about me. After what I did, we both know that I am in no way deserving of your aid. I betrayed you, and I must live with the consequences.”

Lyra didn’t know what to say.

The cellist rose, putting a large stack of bits on the table. “I must return to practicing. Farewell, Lyra.” She paused, then bowed her head. “For what little it is worth, I am sorry for what I did.”

Lyra could only watch as Octavia left.

The lyrist exited the restaurant a few minutes later, trying to figure out what to do next. She couldn’t just abandon Octavia, but the mare clearly didn’t want her involved. If the cellist wouldn’t accept her help, what could she do?

Nopony would blame me if I just went home, she thought, slightly bitterly. Octavia won’t let me help her, and they’d all tell me that I don’t owe her anything. I do want to rescue her, but if she won’t let me… I mean, I could be just as useless to her at home with Bonbon…

“I say, wasn’t that Octavia Philharmonica?”

Lyra glanced over her shoulder to see a large white unicorn. After a moment, she recognized him as the unicorn who had told her that Octavia was in the palace. “Yes,” she said.

The unicorn peered at her, then smiled. “Ah, yes, I remember you. You’re that friend of hers that was looking for her earlier, aren’t you? Well, I’m glad to see you found her.” He smiled.

“Thanks.” Not that I think I did any good…

“You look familiar.” The unicorn’s smile widened in recognition. “Ah, I know! I attended your concert a few months back, your debut. Miss Heartstrings, is it? Some of the best lyre music I’ve ever heard.” He bowed a little.

Normally, Lyra loved it when ponies complemented her music, but she was too distracted and worried about Octavia to manage more than a polite, “Thank you.”

“Are you and Miss Philharmonica friends?”

“Yes. She was my mentor, actually, at the Music Academy.”

“And now you’ve come to support her before her first concert before the Princess?” The unicorn sounded genuinely pleased at that. “Such a splendid display of loyalty to your teacher! I suppose it’s easy for a pony like me to become cynical, what with all the politicians in town, but it truly is heartening to see today’s up and coming stars demonstrating such sterling character.”

Lyra felt a little embarrassed. “Uh, thanks. I didn’t catch your name…?”

“Oh! I apologize. My name is Fancy Pants.”

Lyra thought. “The same one who judged that farming competition in Trottingham?”

“Why, yes. Were you there?”

“No, but you helped a friend of mine out of some trouble.” Fancy Pants, according to Trixie, was a daffy (and slightly dim) fashion-obsessed millionaire who hung around the Court and was friends with Luna. He didn’t do much politically, and had no real official position besides being an ‘Advisor’ to the throne, but he was active in Canterlot social life and was always hosting a charity ball or some other such event. Recently, he’d judged a farming competition in Trottingham, and had helped Carrot Top find her way out of a monument before she was disqualified for tardiness. “Carrot Top was very grateful.”

“Right, the brilliant carrot farmer. I keep meaning to visit her farm, but, well, there’s always so much to do around here. Balls and galas and I simply can’t miss them… but anyway! I’m sure your presence here will mean a lot to Miss Philharmonica.”

“I hope so.”

“Will you be helping her prepare?”

“I wanted to, but I think she wants to get ready for it alone.“

“Are you sure? She seems like a proud sort; perhaps she just doesn’t want to admit to needing help. I know I’ve been guilty of that once or twice!” Fancy Pants laughed. “Perhaps you’ve been in the same situation?”

Lyra smiled. “Maybe a little.”

“I’m sure that she would appreciate it if you helped her, even if she says she doesn’t want it now. After all, you’re quite a good musician yourself.” Fancy Pants bowed again. “I need to get going – I’m scheduled for a dessert tasting in an hour, and I couldn’t possibly miss it – but I’m glad we met again. Have a good night, Miss Heartstrings. I look forward to seeing you at the concert.” He trotted off into the night.

Lyra sat on a bench and thought. Fancy Pants’s comments about unrequested and unwanted help reminded her of a big recital she’d given in her first year at the Academy – her first big recital, actually. Having been still somewhat new to the demands of the Academy, she’d underestimated how much time would be needed to learn the music, and had subsequently been forced to practice for very long days and skimp on sleep to catch up. This had made her both short-tempered and somewhat despairing, as she began to panic that she would botch the recital and reveal herself to be incompetent. Octavia had taken it all in stride, though, and hadn’t seemed to even notice her increasing grumpiness. She’d just kept helping Lyra through the pieces, as if nothing else mattered.

In the end, Lyra had almost missed the recital. Though she’d finally mastered the music late the evening before, she’d had a nervous feeling that she’d screw up if she tried playing it in public. She’d decided that she was going to be ‘sick’ to avoid having to play and embarrass herself, and had even turned off her alarm clock. But Octavia, upon finding that Lyra hadn’t woken at her usual time, had gone to her room and hauled her out of bed. Despite Lyra’s protests and demands that Octavia leave her alone, the cellist had dumped her in the shower and informed her that she would be attending and performing at that recital if Octavia had to personally carry her there and strap her hooves to the stage. Seeing it was hopeless, Lyra composed herself as best she could and went to the recital. And she’d done spectacularly, of course, Octavia had ensured during their practice sessions that she knew the piece.

Right, thought Lyra. She didn’t give up on me even when I flat-out told her to. I’m not going to give up on her either. She nodded. Okay. The plan’s still the same. I know just how to help her.

She began to trot down the streets, still thinking furiously.

Octavia’s brilliant, but I’ve come up with insights she hasn’t had before. And with her as frazzled as she is, I’ll bet she could really use another pony to look at the piece and give her insights. Besides, this is my specialty as a bard – telling history and legends via music is what I do.

She smiled. The Music Academy library’s probably still open. I’ll bet they have a copy of the score…

“For what it’s worth, I think you did the right thing.”

Octavia peered up at the tower ceiling, but she knew it was hopeless. The (surprisingly talkative) cat burglar had come by the tower a few times now, but Octavia had never seen her unless she’d let herself be seen.

“Thank you,” she managed.

“Do you regret it?”

“No.” Octavia had learned that it was basically pointless to put up any pretense against this mare; she seemed to have an uncanny ability to detect when Octavia was being evasive. “By contacting Trixie, I helped Lyra. It was the right thing to do.”

“See? I told you that you could do something for her.”

Octavia would have shrugged if she hadn’t been lying down. “It will be good for the music world that at least one of us will have a career. She—“

“Are you giving up so soon?” The mare sounded disappointed. “You, one of the finest musicians of the generation?”

“The finest musicians of other generations have tried and failed to play this piece. I am not so arrogant to think myself superior to all of them.”

“One may have succeeded.”

“The composer, Maestro. Maybe – the records are lost. But even if she did, Maestro had the true ending, and… well, she is said to have talent unsurpassed in the intervening millenia. Perhaps Luna only hates subsequent renditions because they compare unfavorably, however slightly, to the original.”

The burglar was silent for a while. Then she said, “Do you know what you will do after?”

“I suppose I will return to Cheneigh. I have enough money to hold me over until I can…” Even she could not quite prevent her voice from breaking just a bit, “…can start a new career.”

“As?”

“I don’t know. I have been told I have substantial physical strength, so… maybe something involving tilling or moving, or whatever strong ponies do. Or I could leave the country. In other lands, where Luna’s distaste is not so powerful, I could still perform.”

“Octavia.” The cellist heard the burglar leap down and lightly touch the ground; though she moved incredibly quietly, Octavia could still hear her. “Listen to yourself. Do you honestly think you deserve this?”

Octavia hesitated. At last, she said, “Yes. Had I succeeded, it would be Lyra’s life which would have been ruined.”

There was no response for a moment, and then she heard hoofsteps near her head. “After all of the work you have put in, all the hours and sacrifices, how can you honestly think that it’s right that it all be destroyed? I thought you valued your ability more than that.”

“I...” She trailed off, and then shook her head. The burglar’s words were tempting, but she had to be stronger than that. It was hard, especially when the burglar visited her so often, but she couldn't lose focus. “Lyra Heartstrings is one of the most loyal and noble ponies I have ever known. Her musical talent is beyond compare. She has literally saved the world. And it was her – her – whom I betrayed. If I forgave myself this error, it would be like saying that she was not valuable enough to care about, that whether she prospered or perish was irrelevant.”

“Then why does she worry about you? She knows what you did.”

“She is kind and loyal to a fault. She is letting our prior relationship blind her to my more recent transgressions. I think, though, I have disabused her of those notions now. I do not believe she will return tomorrow – I taught her to be honest, even about me, and after my explanation tonight I do not believe she will overlook my betrayal any longer.” Octavia paused. “I honestly appreciate you trying to console me, but I could no more forget my treason than I could forget a missed note. And I think that we have been over this multiple times.”

“Yes,” said the burglar’s voice, bright and kind.

“My response will not change.”

“I’ll keep going over it,” said the burglar, from just behind her, “Until you understand.” And then she dashed past Octavia and was out the window.

“One thing,” she called, from the outside. “Suppose, despite all you’ve said, she comes back tomorrow. You won’t chase her away, will you?”

Octavia hesitated. “I can’t… I mean, she won’t. She has to see now—“

“But if she does?”

“Then, no, of course not. If she wants to be here, I won’t have her removed, if that’s what you mean. But—“

“Splendid!” The voice sounded happy, and then Octavia heard that weird sound of hoofsteps scampering down the tower wall. The vertical wall.

Octavia listened to her go, then turned away. She wished the burglar wouldn’t come so often. She always made things so… confusing.

Octavia awoke the next morning to the sound of a lyre.

But the room is soundproofed… oh. It must be Lyra again with her magic.

The tune sounded familiar, and Octavia slowly realized that it was from the first movement of the symphony – the entrance to Luna’s theme. It sounded misty and hard to pin down, but retained a regal strength.

Gorgeous…

Octavia slowly got to her hooves turned around, and opened the door. Lyra was sitting there on the floor, strumming her lyre, eyes shut and horn glowing brightly. The cellist wanted to interrupt her, but she wasn’t capable of stopping such a beautiful section of music. She could only stand and watch.

A few minutes later, Lyra finished the theme and opened her eyes. She was flushed with effort – it must have taken quite a bit of effort to push the music through the silencing spells on the door – but she was still grinning merrily. “What did you think?”

“In one night?” asked Octavia. “You mastered it to that extent? Incredible…”

“Well, it took a bit of work.” Lyra yawned. “But hey, I thought you might like a little music to wake up to. Isn’t it awesome?”

“Sublime,” said Octavia, with the voice of an experienced and relentlessly honest music critic. “Beyond compare.”

“So!” Lyra hopped to her hooves. She tapped a stack of pages on the floor – the copy of the score that she’d gotten from the library. “How would you like me to help you learn the Symphony for Moon and Sun?”

Octavia stared in confusion. Why is she helping me? She has to know I stabbed her in the back. But then she bowed her head. The reason why was not important. At this point, she was just grateful to have a friend who would stick with her even in these circumstances.

“I would like nothing more.”

(Bonus) The second attempt: Fame Fortisi

(100 years after Corona’s banishment)

“Please, your majesty, forgive us.” The party organizer bowed low. “We had no idea he would offend you so badly. Please, we beg you, let us make it up to you.”

Fame Fortisi bowed too, which was convenient because she didn’t need to try so hard to hide her smirk. Concerti had flamed out, she knew why, and now she could finally take the lead over him.

They’d been competing their whole lives – for the same positions on the same orchestras, for the same grants and appointments, even for the same marefriend. All had gone to Concerti – until now. Now, Concerti was doomed as a cellist. When the princess hated you, that tended to put a crimp into even the most sterling reputation.

But Fame Fortisi, though always the loser, knew that she was better than Concerti. And now, she was going to prove it.

“It was his offense, not thine,” said Luna, nodding gravely. “No pardon is necessary. I… apologize, if I gave thee the impression that I was mad at thee personally.”

“But it was still an offense. Will you let me present to you another musician, to try the piece? Please? We really do want to make you happy, and… and thank you, for what you’ve done.”

“Take care,” said Luna, in a grave voice. And, Fame sensed – though she still wasn’t looking up – that Luna was examining her. “This work is extremely personal. Musicians often reveal their thoughts of their subjects in their playing. Be certain, Fortisi, that thou art truly prepared to play this piece.”

“I am,” said Fame Fortisi. “Your majesty, I agree with you that Concerti’s performance was a travesty. I just want you to hear it the way it was meant to be played.”

And that was a lie. What Fortisi wanted was to finally win, to finally beat Concerti, to be recognized as smarter, cleverer, more talented – just plain better – like she already knew she was. But to do that, she’d have to win Luna’s favor. Hence the piece.

Luna’s tone was impossible to read. “Very well.”

And so the ballroom was set up, for a small, exclusive audience of Luna herself and a few other nobles. Fortisi took the stage and began to play.

Concerti was a fool, she thought, as she began. Does Luna seem like the type of mare to lord her power over others like that? No. She’s not Corona. Luna is of the Night. Mysterious, impossible to pin down, cleverly twisting about to confound her enemies. She didn’t win that battle with Corona due to brute strength. She won it with superior intellect, and I’m going to show that.

Luna’s theme in the final movement was not that of a cannonball smashing aside her sister. Corona’s theme was quite powerful, and Luna’s didn’t directly challenge it. But it darted around, first here, then there, sliding and skipping over the strings like a fox. Corona’s lumbered after it, casting destruction everywhere, but she couldn’t quite seem to catch it. Luna was just too clever.

In the end, Corona’s theme slowed to a sluggish crawl. It was exhausted from the struggle. And then, only then did Luna rise up and topple it. Fortisi ended the piece with a glorious cadence – Concerti had gotten that part right – and then smiled, waiting for the accolades.

They were not forthcoming.

Luna rose. She was shaking with cold fury, and if possible, she looked even angrier than she had three days ago. “I see. So that is what thee thinkst our fight was like.”

Fortisi blinked. “I, ah, wanted to pay tribute to your intellect and cleverness—“

“Yes, quite clever indeed. When my sister’s fire shattered the Western Canterlot Hospital, I suppose that was all a gambit on my part.” Luna’s voice was deathly low. “All that destruction, all that waste, masterminded by me? Is that how thou seest me?”

“No!” gasped Fortisi. “Of course not! Your majesty, I only meant to show how I thought the battle went, your triumph—“

Somehow, Luna had appeared right in front of her face. “Thou were not there. Thou, evidently, understand nothing.” Her gaze was like ice.

“I – I’ll leave,” said Fortisi, hastily.

“I think that would be wise.” Luna turned away. “Thou needst not bother applying to any more governmental performances, Fortisi.”

And so Fortisi left, and it was only later, when she also could find nopony willing to hire her, that she realized bitterly that she’d finally drawn even with Concerti.

Harmony

It was just like old times.

Lyra played through a section of the music, with Octavia listening attentively. “What do you think of that?”

Despite Lyra’s undeniable ability, Octavia didn’t say ‘beautiful.’ The point was not to praise each other, but to identify even the smallest flaws and work to eliminate them. “The middle phrase felt extraneous. Also, in the first melody, there was too much rubato. That section should be more controlled.”

“Okay,” said Lyra, poking the offending piece of sheet music. “First things first. I think I agree that the phrase doesn’t work. The melodies I get, but the phrase…”

“It doesn’t seem to represent anything,” concurred Octavia. She frowned. “It’s just a transition phrase to get to the next melody.”

“Think you should cut it?”

“The two melodies are a minor second apart; transitioning directly from one to the other will sound discordant.”

“Just do a cadence, then, or a quick tone series.”

“There needs to be more space than that between the melodies. I think the phrase should stay, at least in some form. But you gave it too much weight in the last run-through, and that’s why it didn’t work.” She made a few notes in the margins. “If we make these notes grace notes and emphasize the notes that remain the same in both melodies…” She rose and hefted her bow. “Like this.”

She began at the end of the one melody, finishing it up on a low and somewhat ominous deceptive cadence. The transition phrase hovered around that cadence, then quietly, but swiftly, grew brighter. It was time for a sunrise in Equestria, back when that was still a good thing.

Lyra plucked a stream of notes on her lyre. Octavia swiftly adjusted her melody to accommodate them, letting Lyra take the harmonics and minor sequences while she focused on just the important progression. The piece kept brightening, the strong notes shifting into a major key, and then she was playing the equivalent of a beautiful summer sunrise.

“No,” said Octavia, upon finishing. “Again. Instead of playing in C for the whole thing, transition through the dominant key at measure eight. I think it needs a stronger cadence.”

“Wouldn’t the subdominant be better?”

Octavia shook her head. “Dominant, definitely. Again.”

They played again, and Lyra could hear the difference. “Okay, you’re right. That’s much better.”

“I agree. Three minutes, please.” Octavia began working out how she could play both her part and what Lyra had just done. She only had one instrument, and so was restricted in what she could play at once.

Lyra settled back as Octavia wrestled with the transcription. This was something the cellist was much better at than her; she could play well, but had never done well on the ‘this piece was written for piano and timpani. Transcribe it for horn violin, crumhorn, and glass harmonica’ assignments in school. Instead, she began examining the next section of the piece.

A shadow fell across the sheet music. Lyra looked up to see that the sun had gotten quite low in the sky. “Is it dinnertime already?”

“No, we aren’t done,” said Octavia, not looking up from her work. “Work before pleasure.”

Lyra grinned. “Physical condition, Octavia. We have to eat.”

“I didn’t say we won’t eat, or even that we won’t eat well, but we can’t stop now. We’re far too close!” There was a happiness in Octavia’s voice that Lyra hadn’t heard at all when she’d met the mare the previous day. “I think I almost have this movement, Lyra. At last!” She threw down her quill and returned to her cello. “Listen!”

She played the section again, this time incorporating Lyra’s part as well. The ominous melody shifted, quickly yet gracefully, into the happy, morning theme. It was a rich dawn, full of subtleties – not just a simple sun rising over a featureless landscape, but a morning with all the color and gradation of a real sunrise. Little harmonies and the shortest and lightest of grace notes rounded it out, and as she played, Lyra found that she could almost see the sun gradually lighting up the castle and chasing away the shadows.

The melody ended on a light, high trill, a birdlike call. Octavia was grinning happily – for a brief moment. And then she paused. “Wait. Measure twenty-four, I think the bowing should be changed slightly.” She hefted the bow. “Once more.”

Perfectionist, But Lyra didn’t complain. Octavia’s perfectionism was what made her as brilliant as she was, and it was a treat to listen to her like this. “In measure thirty, I think you also might want to make the C2 note an octave, if you can.”

“Of course I can,” said Octavia. She put her bow to the cello, and the morning dawned once again.

Lyra listened, eyes shut, to the first movement of the Symphony for Moon and Sun.

Octavia had already mastered many of the technical aspects of the piece before Lyra had arrived, but Lyra had helped her to grasp the underlying themes and emotions. Part of it was her instruction, part her knowledge of lore, and part simply her presence, helping to calm Octavia and breaking through her depressive spiral. And the resulting performance was gorgeous.

“Your best work yet,” said Lyra, and she meant it.

“Thank you.” Octavia inclined her head. “I have a few thoughts I wish to record… let’s break for tonight, and resume at dawn tomorrow.”

“Dawn?” teased Lyra. “Really?”

“Work before sleep,” said Octavia, though there was no real anger or even annoyance in her voice. “Although, I suppose if you want to sleep in, I will start alone—“

“Hey, I didn’t say that!” Lyra saluted. “I’ll be in here by dawn!”

“Wonderful.” Octavia paused. “Thank you, Lyra. I have to admit, I don’t understand why you are still here, but I find—“

“Oh, stop it.” Lyra giggled. “I’m here because we’re friends. That’s all there is to it.”

She left, whistling. Things were looking up.

The next few days passed in a blur.

Lyra hadn’t played as much since she’d been a student at the Academy. She didn’t mind the increased workload, however. There was something spiritual about burying oneself in music, performing it so much that it seemed to saturate and rarify the very air around them. The tower room was cramped and perhaps a bit too hot, but to Lyra it felt like the most expansive stage in the world.

Octavia seemed to be like her old self – strict, stern, and utterly devoted to her art. She would play the same phrase dozens of times if she had to, in order to perfect it, before moving on. But Lyra didn’t mind. In fact, it sometimes took several renditions before she realized what it was that was bugging her about it. After that, a comment or a few notes from her lyre was all that was needed to fix the problem, or at least inspire Octavia into coming up with a solution.

Lyra was tangentially aware of the press coverage. The castle guards were able to prevent any of the paparazzi from breaking into the castle to ambush Octavia, and Octavia’s decision to literally camp out in the tower was seeming wiser and wiser. The media didn’t seem to have noticed Lyra yet, for which the green mare was thankful. As a result, the newspaper headlines couldn’t help but be vague. “Concert still scheduled” was about all they had. Nevertheless, Lyra could feel a sense of anticipation from the ponies reading the paper, and from the nobles she passed who were attending the concert. This was a once-in-a-lifetime event, and even if they would never speak of it later, they all wanted to hear the forbidden piece.

Of course, they can’t admit it, but it’s not exactly hard to tell.

The only part of Lyra’s work that was completely fruitless was the search for the fifth movement. Not only had its original score been lost, but none of the other versions had been saved either (granted, Luna hadn’t liked those versions, but a ‘what not to do’ list could have been useful). Literally the only thing that Lyra knew about it was that it was supposed to be about the actual confrontation between Luna and Celestia, and the immediate aftermath. And that was rather vague.

There were, what, maybe fifty total attempts at this thing in the past 900 years? I’d be surprised if any two of them had even similar endings. I don’t even know where to start.

But they still had a few days, which meant they still had time to figure things out. They were two great musicians; surely they would come up with something. Besides, it was an ending to a glorious symphony that detailed the victory of Moon over Sun, Night over Day, and Good over Evil; as long as they made it glorious and joyous, that would be a good starting point. The other performances might have just not made it glorious enough.

Only thing is, every other musician that tried it probably thought the same thing…

Well… again. They had time.

As Lyra trotted down the stairs away from the tower, she smiled. Octavia had performed a stunning rendition of movement three, and was making great progress on the fourth one as well. By noon tomorrow, they’d be able to devote time to writing a new ending. They were ahead of schedule and doing fine. Everything was going well.

And as she was thinking this, she almost walked into another pony.

“Oh! Excuse me!” Lyra had gotten used to seeing no other ponies around; though she was rising early, the castle was still usually shutting down for dawn at about the time she was entering, and only just waking up as she left. But here, at least, was one pony who seemed to still have something to do.

“Quite all right,” said the other pony. She was an earth pony, with a white mane and coat. Medium-sized and unobtrusive, she somehow seem to fade into the background when Lyra wasn’t look directly at her. “My fault.”

Lyra shrugged and left, whistling a little. Yes, things indeed were going great.

“I saw her myself, sir. Lyra Heartstrings is here, and helping Octavia.”

Greengrass frowned. He’d been away in his home fiefdom for a few days – a corporation from a neighboring domain had been trying to undercut one of Greengrass’s own business, and the Duke had decided to deal with them personally – and had only just returned to Canterlot. “Well, it’s not totally unexpected. She is the Element of Loyalty, after all.”

“I can have her barred from the castle. She has no legitimate reason to be here.”

“It will be obvious that I’m involved, then. Above all, I can’t look like I’m trying to manipulate Luna into doing my dirty work for me.” Greengrass smiled slightly. “I understand she dislikes that.”

“You could say that, sir,” said Notary in a dry tone.

Greengrass thought. “Lyra may simply be here for moral support, but she could be trying to aid her friend in a more substantial way as well. According to her dossier,” he had compiled one for each Element, “She’s an expert on music performance, music theory, and music history. If anypony in Equestria knows how to play that piece in the ‘correct’ way, whatever that is, it’s her. She could be teaching Octavia some technique that will impress even Luna.”

“I think that’s unlikely, sir.”

“Well, my ascension to this rank was considered by many to be unlikely. As I’m sure you’re aware, that worked out rather well for me, and not as well for the many.” Greengrass chuckled. “Let’s make sure not to make the same errors as my rivals; that would just be embarrassing.”

“Duly noted, sir,” drawled Notary. “What would you like to do about Lyra?”

“I think we should make use of Luna again. She has an absolutely irrational hatred of this piece. Perhaps it will move her to such rage that she’ll squash both of them on the spot.”

“Sir, that’s not like her. Historically—“

“Ah, but it’s quite possible. Or, at least, our dear ex-employee will think so.” Greengrass began to walk towards the door. “Octavia believes that she deserves to suffer. She’s letting Lyra help her now because she’s desperate for friendship, but if Lyra were to suffer some kind of cost for doing so, Octavia would believe that the only moral thing to do would be to send Lyra away to protect her from the fallout.”

“…I see.” Notary thought. “I can have a press release at every paper by morning that announces that they are working together.”

“Yes, perfect. Get on that. Join them at the hip. Make sure everypony, especially the nobles, know that Lyra supports Octavia and will rise or fall with her. That will spook Octavia so badly that she would rather tie Lyra up and ship her to Tapira than let her friend be tarnished along with her.” He grinned. “If we succeed, we split them apart, and Lyra’s plan to save Octavia fails.”

Notary hesitated. “Sir, I think there’s something you’re forgetting.”

“Yes?” Greengrass smiled. Notary was worth more than a hundred sycophants. So few servants knew to think for themselves, and even fewer would contradict their masters, but Notary was the exception.

“Suppose we fail, and Lyra remains by Octavia’s side. The lyrist is an Element, and Luna needs her for the defense of the country. If we tell the world that Lyra and Octavia are linked, then Luna may spare Octavia so as to avoid hurting Lyra.”

“You mean, the Throne would favor a friend of an Element? Dear me, that would imply that the Elements are legitimate political entities – and can be controlled like any other.” He chuckled. “The reason we have to move in the shadows to seize the Elements, unlike every other trinket I’ve taken, is that the Elements are considered ‘out of play.’ They belong to all Equestria, defend the nation, work for Luna personally, that kind of thing. But if Luna does something political, anything political with the Elements, I can act to take them directly. What will she do, condemn me for doing what she herself did? Now, to be fair, Octavia would then escape unscathed, but I can pass up a bit of revenge for a solid political advantage. After all, if you spend more on revenge than whatever the other pony did to you in the first place, well, that’s just…”

“Pathetic?” filled in Notary.

“I was going to say ‘ironic,’ and perhaps ‘depressing,’ but that works too.” Greengrass grinned. “But I do appreciate the insight. Thank you, Notary.”

“You’re welcome, sir.” Notary straightened. “By morning, all the city will know that Lyra and Octavia are working together.”

Greengrass smiled merrily. He loved it when a plan came together. “Wonderful.”

(Bonus) The twelfth attempt: Stringer

(200 years post Celestia)

Dream big, Stringer’s mother had taught her. She’d been one of the most successful con mares in Equestria, grifting her way from city to city. Shed amassed fortune and treasure galore, and none of her victims were any the wiser. Everypony, she’d said, could be a sucker if you just played them right – and she was always able to prove it.

She’d passed away a few years back, but Stringer had done her best to continue the family tradition. Blessed with a talent that made her a sort of jack-of-all-trades, she was able to demonstrate all kinds of skills to convince ponies to part with their hard-earned bits. She could cook just well enough to trick nobles into thinking she was a famous chef; she could march just well enough to look like an angry guard that it would better to bribe than to argue with; she could juggle, sing, even walk on her two front hooves. She wasn’t great at anything, except, perhaps, for talking, but that was really all she needed.

“String ‘em along,” her mother had taught her. “Until you’ve got all they have.” And she did.

But this scam would have impressed even her old mare – and that mare had once conned a title, not just wealth but a title, out of a keen-eyed archduchess with more paranoia than rooms in her castle. This would be the scam, the titanic one that would rocket her straight to the top. This was it, baby. The legendary con.

The scene? Canterlot Royal Auditorium. The plan? Play the Symphony for Moon and Sun. Not well, of course, but who would know the difference? Nopony had heard the piece played in many, many years, and none ever spoke of the old performance anyway. Hay, the fifth movement was forgotten, so who was to say it wasn’t mostly a series of glitzy, flashy, and speedy arpeggiations (the sort that sounded a lot harder to play than they really were) around the previous themes? The foolish nobles had no idea what it was supposed to sound like. As long as she didn’t screech her way through it, they’d trust she was playing it right. Luna might know the difference, but then again, Luna wouldn’t be there. Luna, Stringer knew, was abroad in diplomatic talks. She would miss the concert.

The key to the con, though, was ensuring that the other ponies forgot that.

Costume Artist was a very talented actress whom Stringer worked with occasionally, but even the seasoned con artist had to admit that Costume had outdone herself this time. Her Luna costume was absolutely perfect. She looked just like the Princess of the Night, and could act like her too. She would fool them all.

Stringer would take the stage. ‘Luna’ would arrive, in an unexpected appearance – she’d rushed home from her diplomatic duties, she’d say, just to hear this piece -- , and Stringer would play. ‘Luna’ would love it. In fact, it would completely floor her. She would pronounce Stringer the greatest musician in Equestria, bar none. And, given her great love of music, that would imply that nobles who utilized the services of so great a musician might just look a bit better than those philistines who did without.

And that would open so many doors…

The Longest Night Ceremony was in a month. Once Luna favored her, all the nobles would beg her to play for them at that ceremony, in their own domains and fiefdoms. She’d entertain all offers. Hay, she’d accept all offers – as long as they paid in advance. She could make that demand; each noble would know that, if they turned her down, another would snap her up. They would never tell each other that they’d bought her because they’d each worry about their colleagues stealing her away; this would help ensure that they didn’t realize that she was selling the same performance to sixty-odd nobles. Although, why stop at just the one concert? Plenty would want to sign her for long-term contracts too. And… as long as they had plenty of money… she would gladly accept.

She would make tens of thousands of bits. Even splitting it with Costume, she’d be beyond rich. Sure, it would fall apart once Luna returned in a week or two, but by then the two of them would have cashed out and hidden in their safe house in Cavallia, where they could enjoy a life of anonymous prosperity.

But that would be later. For now, she had to sell the con.

Stringer stepped onto the stage just as the fake Luna finished stating how, though she was so busy, she just had to come back and listen to the mare with the temerity to play this piece. ”THIS PIECE DESCRIBES MYSELF AND MINE SISTER. SHOULD THERE BE EVEN ONE SINGLE FLAW, I SHALT NEVER FORGIVE THE ARTIST. PLAY IT, STRINGER… IF THOU CANST!”

Stringer pretended to be afraid. “I – I obey, your majesty!”

She hefted her bow, drew it across the instrument, and –

And suddenly, she felt very cold.

Involuntarily, she looked out at the audience – and she saw a rapidly expanding patch of dark blue.

No! No, no, no! Impossible!

There was a flash, there was a titanic, roiling boom, and then there was Luna. And Stringer suddenly understood why ponies once feared the night.

Costume Artist took one look at the alicorn and tried to bolt, but she seemed to run into some kind of invisible wall. With a flash, her fake wings evaporated, her mist turned to dust, and even her fine vestments crumbled. “Please, stop! Don’t hurt me!”

“Take her away,” hissed Luna.

And then, as Costume Artist was being hauled out by the guards, Luna turned her gaze on Stringer. Her eyes were like thin needles of ice pointing directly at her.

“I have come,” said Luna, in a very angry voice, “A long way to hear this piece. Play it, Stringer. If thou canst.”

And she couldn’t.

Cacophony

The headline read, “Philharmonica gains surprise supporter in effort to play forbidden Symphony – the Element of Loyalty!”

Lyra had to read the article twice before really understanding what it said. There wasn’t much there, just a few lines about how she had ‘enthusiastically promised her support, saying she would stand by her friend whatever happened and, if need be, against Luna herself.’ Lyra, who of course had not made any such promise, could only stare at the article in confusion.

If this is a political move, I don’t understand it. Are they trying to scare me? She laughed at the very idea. It would take more than gossip and rumors to keep Lyra Heartstrings from backing up a friend.

Lyra got a few odd looks as she trotted over to the castle, but she made it inside without any difficulties and began the long climb to the tower. I should really talk to Octavia about moving her practice room somewhere lower down. Surely there’s an empty room around here that’s big enough. She smiled, picturing Octavia’s reaction to her suggestion. ’What, Lyra, do you think I’m weak?’ ‘No, but I think that a marathon climb to start the day is extreme, even for you, Tavi…’

She reached the tower door, unlocked it, and opened it, only for Octavia to leap in front of her. Her expression was uncharacteristically frantic. “You must leave! Now!”

“What?” asked a stunned Lyra

“Go!” Octavia was sweating; something had spooked her. Even her normally smooth, silken mane was mussed and disheveled. “You cannot stay in Canterlot even one hour longer. Leave now and take the 6:45 to Ponyville.”

“I can’t leave, we aren’t—“

“Forget about the practicing!” Octavia gestured at a newspaper that was sitting just inside the room. “Have you seen the headlines? They are tying you to me!”

“… wait. You haven’t left this room to go home or to a newspaper stand, and I really don’t think they deliver up here.” Lyra frowned. “Some other pony left that. To scare you. Probably Greengrass—“

“Who cares? I can tell it is not a fake! Lyra, you need to leave before you are tarred by being associated with this performance!”

“Octavia. I have no idea what that means. Who cares if the papers know that I’m helping you?”

Octavia grimaced and shut her eyes. Lyra frowned; Octavia only looked like that when she was struggling to control her temper. “I cannot guarantee that Luna will like my performance; and, given all the other attempts, am still convinced that the odds are far against me. You are on the record as supporting my efforts to play it, as helping me to play. Therefore, if the Princess dislikes it and orders me shunned, you too will be blacklisted as a matter of course. No venue will want to host a mare who helped put on a performance so revolting to the Princess.”

“Luna isn’t an idiot. She’s not going to fall for this.”

“What else will she do? She cannot publically support you; that would look like she is biased in favor of the Elements, and that would cause her serious political problems. And I seriously doubt she will avoid criticizing my performance for your sake. Friends of hers and heroes of Equestria have attempted this piece before, Lyra, and it has not saved them. A friend of a friend has no immunity to her scorn.”

“Okay,” said Lyra. “So now you’re playing for both of us. When have you ever cared about pressure?”

“It’s not about pressure! Lyra, when it was only my life on the line, I consented to allow you to aid me. But now that helping me will almost certainly result in your ruination I cannot allow you to continue! You have too much potential, and too much at stake, to keep going on this path!”

“That’s my call, Tavi, not yours.”

“Octavia. And it is my call. You have no official business in the castle, and I could have you barred from this tower.”

Lyra stared. “Octavia. This is insane.”

“I am trying to save you!”

“Then why won’t you let me save you?”

“Because you cannot and the risk is too great!”

“Octavia!” Lyra was now glaring at her mentor. “Look, if our positions were reversed, I know you wouldn’t care about this! You’d help me even if they threatened to throw you off Canterlot Bridge afterwards!”

“So?!”

“So – so if you’d do that for me, why the Hay won’t you let me do that for you?”

“Because you are deserving of that sort of loyalty, Lyra! Not I!”

Octavia couldn’t place Lyra’s expression – she hadn’t seen it before. It was oddly vague, like Lyra was lost in thought. Eventually, the green mare began to speak again. “Oh, I see. I’m worth… concern… and you aren’t.”

“Exactly. I have been trying to tell you that.”

“Because you screwed up.”

“Yes.”

The two mares stared at each other for a few moments, before Lyra turned her head. “Wow.”

“Lyra, we are wasting time. The paparazzi –“

“Octavia, shut up.”

Octavia blinked. “…excuse me?” Lyra had never spoken to her like that.

“I said, shut up. As in, stop talking.”

“Lyra, this is—“

Lyra trotted towards Octavia until she was directly in the cellist’s face. “What’s wrong with you?!”

“I—“

“Do you think you’re the only mare who’s ever made a mistake?” Lyra yelled. “If one bad decision means that it doesn’t matter what happens to you, what do you think that means for the rest of us?”

“I wasn’t judging you—“

“Why not?” Lyra’s face was inches from Octavia. “I’ve screwed up too, Tavi. I’ve had bad performances. I’ve flaked. Sometimes I haven’t always been there for my friends. Do you think it’d be okay if the Duke destroyed my life too?”

“No, of course not! I just said—“

“You ‘just said’ that, even though you’ve done so many amazing and incredible things, none of that matters because you screwed up one time!“ Lyra paused. “If that makes you worthless, Octavia, what does it make me? I can’t play as well as you. I haven’t mentored anypony. What have I done that you haven’t done better?”

“You are an Element—“

“And I almost screwed that up too, when I collapsed fighting monsters on the way to the old castle,” she said. “But you didn’t answer me, Octavia.”

“Answer?”

Lyra’s voice was softer, but she still sounded hurt. “If you, with all the incredible things you’ve done, are worthless, what does that make me?”

Octavia opened her mouth, then closed it, unsure of how to answer the question. “Lyra, please—“

Lyra turned. “Octavia, I need some time to think. I’ll be back later.” She hurried out.

“Wait!” Octavia couldn’t say why she wanted Lyra to stay, after having tried so hard to convince her to leave, but she suddenly felt like she desperately wanted Lyra to remain for a few more minutes. “Lyra, stop!”

The door slammed behind her.

Octavia sprang at it, but stopped herself from yanking it open. No. No, I won’t. This is what I wanted. If we fight, and she leaves afterwards, then she might not perish if I cannot master this piece. This is good, this is… She couldn’t finish the thought.

Music. She had a symphony to learn, and she wasn’t ready yet. Bury herself in music. That would help.

She hefted her cello (with, perhaps, a little more force than strictly necessary), and then began to play. Or, at least, she tried. What followed was sound, perhaps even notes, but it could not honestly be called music.

Octavia gamely struggled on, in one of the more torturous performances that the castle had known, but it was beyond her to try to pretend that she’d produced anything of value. When she’d finished the movement, she sank to the ground.

“So. That’s how you treat your friends.”

Octavia had sat in silence for upwards of half an hour. The only indication she’d had of time passing was the slow rising of the sun through the tower window, and the sounds of the city waking up. For once, though, she wished she didn’t hear them. To sleep, or failing that, to be in a numb cocoon of silence and darkness, that was what Octavia wanted.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” she told the burglar. “I am not in a mood for conversation.”

“You shouldn’t have done that.” For the first time, there was no warmth in the masked mare’s voice. It echoed around the room, almost mocking. “That was depraved, Octavia. A cruelty worthy of the Court, perhaps, but beneath you.”

“I didn’t want Greengrass to hurt her. I – it grieves me, of course, to think that she hates me. But better that than her remaining here and falling victim to that monster’s schemes.”

“He doesn’t need to hurt her now. You’ve done a fine job of that on her own.”

“Her feelings, I grant,” said Octavia. “But her career, her life—“

The mare’s voice was suddenly directly in front of Octavia. “Do you honestly think Lyra would want to have a career if she had to step over the bodies of her friends to get there?! Is that the career you wanted?” The mare snorted. “Why did you betray Greengrass, again? If you care so little for your friends, if you’d rather have your concerts and applause, you could have stayed in his pocket. He rewards his allies; you know that. He’d have given you a very nice position in a famous orchestra somewhere.”

“We’ve been over this,” hissed Octavia. “Lyra was worth my sacrifice. I betrayed my closest friend.”

“And now she has too, thanks to you. Congratulations.”

“Who has she betrayed?” demanded Octavia. “Me? I ordered her to leave!”

“Yes, you did. She’ll think that now, and tomorrow, and maybe for a few more days. Probably until after you’re done with the recital and truly beyond help.” The mare’s voice was, if anything, even more pointed now. “And then she’ll start to wonder. Were you really responsible for your words? Weren’t you under more stress than any pony could bear alone? Wouldn’t a true friend, a loyal friend, have put up with one more little outburst – especially for the mare who taught her half of what she knew? Wasn’t she being petty when she walked out and left you to rot?”

Octavia said nothing. She didn’t want to think about what the mare was saying, but her thoughts were moving in that direction regardless.

“You know how you feel, now, after what you did. You know what it feels like to betray a friend for the sake of your career.” The mare began to trot to the window. “Soon, Lyra will know it too.”

“No,” said Octavia. There was a hint of a plea in her voice. “That cannot happen.”

“Why not? Wouldn’t that… just? Honest? It would be very wrong, Octavia, for her to lie to herself.”

“There would be no lie! No reasonable or rational pony would remain here in these circumstances.”

“Circumstances? Maybe other mares would consider those, but the honest ones, like you and Lyra, know better. Circumstances are never an excuse, are they? Isn’t that what you’ve been saying all these months?”

“Ordinarily, yes, but—“

“No buts.” The mare began to climb out the window. “Why should it matter that you threw her out, that you looked about ready to call the castle guards on her if she didn’t leave? It was her responsibility to make the right choice, and she didn’t. She failed a friend who needed her. Isn’t her shame just as great as yours?”

“No, of course not!” said Octavia. But she didn’t know how to argue that point. All she could do was look away and wonder why all her rationalizations, all her carefully constructed arguments, suddenly seemed so flimsy.

“Well, if nothing else, I think you taught Lyra the importance of what you call ‘honesty’. I wonder how long it will be before she too thinks she’s worthless… and before she throws away everything for some other pony that she thinks matters more.”

“NO!”

The mare glanced back. Octavia was on her hooves. The cellist shook her head. “She can’t do that. Not her. And – and she won’t. She knows her worth.”

“Her worth, by your standards?” The mare’s horn began to glow, and Octavia suddenly realized that she knew very little indeed about her mysterious ally. “How much is that?”

“She is an excellent musician, and… and…” She couldn’t seem to find it in her to continue.

“Have you really thought about how she’d measure up if you judged her like you judge yourself?” The mare approached Octavia, until they were inches apart. “Do you want to see for yourself?”

“…what?” Octavia gulped. For the first time since Corona’s return, she felt afraid. “Stay back!”

The mare sprang forwards, touching her horn against Octavia’s forehead, and then –

The sun was going down, but the cool evening breeze wasn’t refreshing. It stank with the smell of garbage that hadn’t been collected in several days. A muddy creek swirled past the old road; it was full of commercial waste, judging by the smell, and therefore heavily toxic. It was not an atmosphere conducive to… well, to any sort of happy life.

The building across from the creek was a honky-tonk saloon, one of the last of its kind. On tottering walls and with a cracking roof, Octavia could tell at a glance that this was an establishment by and for the desperate. Those who had nowhere else to go could drown their sorrows in cheap beer and with cheap, meaningless diversions – darts, or pool, or whatever trivialities they had out here.

An old stallion stumbled out of the saloon, and as the door swung shut, Octavia heard snatches of music. Despite her misgivings, she felt herself being drawn inside.

Lyra was performing.

The music wasn’t terrible; that was perhaps the worst part about it. Octavia could still hear hints of brilliance, surely unappreciated by the drunkards and delinquents half-slumped over tables, but recognizable all the same. It was still a Lyra Heartstrings composition, though buried in the cheap, schmaltzy drinking music.

Lyra was slouching over her lyre, strumming with one hoof while letting the others dangle idly. Octavia caught a glimpse of her eyes and froze. Lyra should have looked panicked, at winding up in these circumstances, or scared, or even disgusted at falling so low. But she couldn’t see any of that. Lyra looked resigned, like she had lowered her expectations to the point where her position felt acceptable.

“Lyra!” But she couldn’t be heard over some raucous moron in the back slamming his pool cue against his partner’s head.

The cellist ran forwards, shoving patrons and a waitress out of her way. “Lyra!” she repeated. She jumped onto the little stage, accidentally put a hoof through a cheap wooden board, tore it out and kept on going. “Lyra!”

Lyra looked over at her with dead eyes. “Tavi? What’re you doing here? Thought you were in Cheneigh.”

“Nevermind. We’re leaving, now. Immediately.”

Lyra’s expression was completely blank. “Why?”

“Why? Because I am not going to allow you to languish in this rat-infested den for one moment longer.”

Lyra shrugged. “Pays the bills.” She strummed again, hitting – it had to be by accident, she wasn’t paying enough attention to do it deliberately – a pretty little five-note sequence. “That’s enough.”

“Not for you! You should be the talk of Canterlot by now!” For Lyra did look a few years older. More worn, too. “Not playing gimcrack drinking tunes to patrons too immersed in their liquor to remember it tomorrow!”

“No… I couldn’t play there.” (By now, some of the bar patrons were yelling for Octavia to get off the stage). “There’s new musicians in Canterlot these days. Loyal to each other.” She smiled wistfully. “They deserve those spots. I’m fine where I am… I mean, my choices put me here. Can’t very well complain now.”

Octavia felt a tug – a unicorn, probably a bouncer, was dragging her away with magic. “Wait! Lyra!”

“We should get together some day,” said Lyra, turning back to her lyre. “We could…” She sighed. “We could talk about old times.”

“Lyra! No! Lyra!”

“… no, no, no! Lyra, please! LYRA!”

Octavia realized that she was back in the tower, and that she was in a little ball on the floor. She looked up at the mare. “What did you do?!”

The mare shrugged. “Part of my talent. Wisdom. Helps ponies see what they’ve managed to blind themselves to.” She stared at Octavia. “That’s what your standards say she deserves. She, and you.”

“Not that! Not for her, or…”

“You know it’s true, Octavia.”

Octavia shook her head. “She does not deserve that!”

“She made a mistake—“

“I don’t care! I don’t care what she did, Lyra Heartstrings deserves more than that!” yelled Octavia. She managed to get to her hooves. “Lyra Heartstrings is a brilliant musician, a loyal friend, and—“

“It’s not me you need to convince,” said the mare. “It’s not me who thinks that, if you make one mistake, it doesn’t matter what happens to you.”

And, Octavia was able to think, it was true in a sense. Lyra would be betraying her if she left now. She’d be leaving a friend in need, and that meant that she deserved—

No.

“She doesn’t deserve that,” repeated Octavia. “Any standards that say she does are wrong! All the work she’s done, all the good she’s done, matters, and cannot be obviated by… by something as trivial as being angry at a friend, once, especially with half the Court working against her! She’s brought joy to hundreds of ponies with her concerts, she works tirelessly to do justice to her music, she saved the world, and more! She deserves better than that perverse illusion!”

She paused.

Doesn’t the same apply to me? And then, a stronger thought. Aren’t all the good things I did worth something?

And she was seeing them, as if for the first time, the ponies that had smiled at her shows, the ones who had written her and told her that she’d inspired them to go into classical music, the colleagues whom she had helped reach true greatness under her training. There was even the one foal who had contacted her and said that she’d been so swept away by Octavia’s cello sonatas that, when she’d arrived home that night, she’d realized that she’d gotten her cutie mark at that concert – a record disk. She was going to be a music critic, she had said, because she loved music, and it was Octavia who had helped her to realize that.

I did a horrible thing, but I don’t deserve that saloon either. And I don’t deserve to be blacklisted now.

She had thought, for the longest time, that if she allowed fault in herself, it would not be long before she gave in to all manner of vice. Once it was allowable to, say, skip practice once, it would be easier the second time, and the third, until one was a layabout bum. But at this acknowledgement that her failure was, perhaps, forgivable, Octavia didn’t feel a sudden urge for hedonistic and libertine depravity. She felt like…

Like a weight is off of me. Maybe I can’t escape the Symphony’s curse, but at least now I know that I should try… that it’s worth trying.

“…alright,” she managed, and bowed her head. “I was wrong.”

“Don’t tell me. Find your friend,” said the mare. Her voice was no longer cruel, but it still wasn’t quite kind. “Before it’s too late. Before she decides that she’s betrayed you and is just as worthless as—“

Octavia was already running for the door.

As she went down the stairs, she sped up until she was in a full-blown gallop.

She had to find Lyra.

(Bonus) The twenty-seventh attempt: Red Magician

(450 years post Celestia)

The instruments hovered on stage, soaring in intricate patterns that did nothing for the sound but served to show off Red Magician’s skill. And, as the violins somersaulted over the cellos and the piano wheeled itself around behind the timpani, the crowd roared its adulation.

Magic had been Red Magician’s talent ever since he’d been a little foal. Telekinesis in particular, using raw magical power to move and manipulate items in the world, had come as easily to him as breathing. By this point, as a young adult colt, he was said to have power unparalleled in the city, excepting only Luna herself. In terms of magical reserves, he would be able to wrestle with the guards themselves. And then there were his spells; why, by this point he probably knew more spells than half the Canterlot scholars; he only had to read them once and they imprinted upon his mind. And for this he was renowned -- feared, even. He was an integral part of Canterlot; his knowledge of magic had been called upon by the guards to help keep out unusual threats or to solve crimes; he had even been praised for his sheer ability and power by Luna Herself. But that was only right and proper.

Music had been Magician’s hobby, not his job, but when he’d learned about the infamous Symphony, he thought it was too good an opportunity to pass up. After all, there were still naysayers in the city, those who didn’t think that his vast magical prowess was really all that impressive. He’d had to talk with one of those recently, an idiotic noble deep in her cups. “Magic? What’s that ever done? Sure, y’can make – make illusions, or mess things up, but ya can’t build anythin’! *hic* All y’all unicorns can only watch when we earth ponies create stuff!”

It was nonsense, but it was such common nonsense that Magician felt obligated to stop it. What could he do, he wondered, to demonstrate that his superlative control of magic would make him the greatest at… well, anything he put his mind to? Well, why not use that magic to play the music that could not otherwise be played? Certainly, he wasn't really a musician, he'd never played in public, but he was a phenomenal magician, and that meant he could do just about anything. That was what magic was, after all. The power to remake and reshape the world however you wanted.

He had transcribed the piece for a large ensemble performance – the Symphony would be played by multiple instruments for the first time in quite a while – and then retreated into seclusion to study the work. He saw it as just a big telekinesis puzzle, a test of using his magic to carefully manipulate a dozen instruments. Yes, it was difficult, but only in the way that remembering an intricate series of directions was difficult. He just had to practice enough to get it perfect. The other musicians might have needed decades to learn one instrument, but his immeasurable telekinetic power would make that quite unnecessary. A few weeks of practice at using the instruments, a few days to memorize the work, and he'd be ready to play.

Luna would love it. The others had failed because, as good as they’d been, they’d had inadequate tools – solo performances of this piece were doomed; it was just too complicated to fit on one instrument. But Magician had the talent to use as many instruments as he wanted. It would be extraordinary.

The instruments settled into an arrangement, the strings above Magician, the brass and wind to his right, the piano rolling to a stop to his left. Magician raised his front hooves, casting a small spell to ripple through his hair and make it look like he’d just absorbed a blast of static electricity. “Red Magician thanks you for your attendance, and will now ASTOUND and AMAZE you! Behold his vast power which will allow him alone to play this piece correctly!”

“Behold!” cried his fancolts and fanfillies from the audience.

Luna looked… cautioning. She sat in her booth at the top of the hall, watching the scene with her inscrutable eyes. She said nothing.

But that was fine. Magician grinned, and his horn glowed – a bright, almost blinding, teal hue. Bows began to move, air began to blow through the brass and wind instruments, piano hammers began to strike. The piece was beginning.

Magician had called it a Symphony for Solo Colt in his advertisements. He felt it was appropriate.

The best part was the ending, the part he’d written himself. It described how Luna had overpowered her sister. And how had she done this? Brute force? Sly cunning? No, of course not! She was Luna Equestris, the most powerful magician in the country. She had won thanks to her superior magical skill. Brute force was for the infantry grunts; cunning for thieves and burglars; but it took an alicorn to overcome another alicorn with magical ability.

And so Luna’s theme transitioned among the instruments, seeming almost… well, magical. It morphed and transformed, overpowering Celestia’s, not in a straight-up bucking match, but in a contest of skill. Celestia’s theme just couldn’t match the transformations that Luna’s did, and it let Luna’s theme run circles around Celestia’s. Luna captured the strings, the brass, the piano, easily deflecting any attack and throwing many of her own.

In the end, Celestia’s theme shrank. It screamed pitifully, but what could it do? Celestia hadn’t anything like the magical muscle of her sister. This was self evident; if Celestia had been more talented magically, she’d have won. But it was Luna that had been victorious, and her theme flared in triumph as Celestia’s was shifted into something unimportant and pathetic, something too weak to bother with – a mare now imprisoned forever in the sun, helpless to touch the world again.

The ending was a glorious testament to magic, the whole ensemble playing in a grand union that resounded throughout the hall. When Magician ended, he allowed himself a grin. Was that not the greatest performance in the world?

There was no applause.

Magician frowned slightly, watching Luna stand. “My princess,” he began. “I would be honored to know your thoughts.”

“My thoughts?” Luna’s smile was razor thin. “That you are little more than a prospective sycophant. My sister had more magical power than me without the Elements; every pony knows this. Foals know that, without the additional help of the Elements, I would have lost the match. Did you think I would be impressed by a lie? Is that what you think of your ruler?”

“My princess,” said Magician, “After all I have done for the city, after all I still do – considering how absolutely indispensible I am – I would hope by now you would know I am no liar!”

“Being a good magician and a hero has nothing to do with the perfidy you just demonstrated,” hissed Luna. “Do you think that helping in the city’s defense gives you the right to lie? About me? Stick to your spells and your detective work, Magician. Never again will I hear you perform.”

She vanished.

Magician could only stare. “Ah – well, I suppose one must allow the princess her little joke. Fillies and gentlecolts, this great work of Maestro’s, this—“

But it wasn’t working. Ponies were backing away from the stage. There were nervous whispers.

“Now – now see here, maybe you couldn’t tell, but I was quite cognizant of Luna loving the piece. She might not be able to admit such, you know the reputation of the work, but it was quite obvious how moved she was, and…”

It still didn’t work.

He reached out to one of his younger fans, but her mother yanked her back. “You’re not associating with him anymore!” she cried. And then the audience was stampeding out the door, as if pursued by Luna’s wrath.

It was not what one would call a rousing success.

Scherzo

Lyra wandered through the town aimlessly. How can she not see how much she’s hurting me? If she really thinks those things about herself… what does she think of me?

She had thought that Octavia really did care for her, respected her talents, valued her friendship. But if Octavia wasn’t just exaggerating, if she really believed that she herself was beneath contempt… was there any pony who could meet her standards?

You were my mentor, Tavi. I wanted to be like you. You didn’t know it, but I attended everyone of your concerts when I was at the Academy, even the ones you didn’t tell me about. When you gave that performance at the Cheneigh town hall, I took a train there, even though it cost me a week of my academic stipend. And now…

What did Octavia really think of her? The cellist knew that Lyra was imperfect. She knew that Lyra had overslept on occasion, procrastinated sometimes, that she had been known now and then to be a bit lazy. Was Octavia judging her, condemning her, behind those dark eyes of hers? It seemed impossible. How many times had Octavia told Lyra how highly she valued her, called her the ‘greatest student’ she could ever hope for? But now, Lyra didn’t know what the cellist felt.

Does she hold me in contempt too? And Lyra felt a stab of anger. I forgave her. After what she did, I still came to support her. If she condemns me despite that, maybe she’s right. Maybe she isn’t worth it.

She had reached a fork in the road. One path led to the train station. I could go home, she thought. Go home and forget about her.

But she was the Element of Loyalty. Octavia had helped her so many times. She deserved help now, when she needed it.

Yeah, but if that happened again, what would she do? If she were to ‘honestly’ follow her own principles, judge me ‘fairly’, wouldn’t she decide now that I didn’t deserve it either?

She kicked a rock in the direction of the train station, watching it bounce away. “Maybe I should just leave,” she muttered. “I shouldn’t have to deal with this. In a few hours, I could be home and cuddling with Bonbon. Let her crash if she wants to fail so badly.”

The other fork in the road, she knew, would eventually lead her back to the castle. She could go find Octavia and try, once again, to make her understand. To pound something into that thick head of hers. But she didn’t think there would be much point in that. The mare could be more stubborn than Raindrops and Applejack combined when she tried.

I wish we were back in the Academy. Things were so much simpler back then. No politics, no Elements, just… it was just music.

Lyra’s horn glowed, and her lyre appeared before her. She picked it up and strummed it absently.

We did such great things. Those recitals we gave… for a member of the Court, even. Sure, he was just a Viscount, but still. We played in front of that consortium of merchants. The Academic Board. The Dean said that she was so proud of us after that last one. Doesn’t she remember any of that?

She paused. She had an idea.

“Okay,” she said. “I’ll try one more thing. For her, I’ll try once more.”

Nodding to herself, she turned on her hooves and returned the way she came.

Lyra was not at the train station.

She was not at her hotel.

She was not in any of the parks she liked, or the bakeries or candy shops. She wasn’t at the Canterlot Mall. She hadn’t gone to see their mutual friends.

Please, do not have left town yet… Lyra, I am sorry for what I said, please still be here…

“Woah!” A shopkeeper sprang out of her way as she dashed through the market square. “Slow down, mare!”

Octavia did not slow down. She had to find Lyra, wherever she was, if she was still in the city. She had to be somewhere…

As she crested a small hill, she found herself rapidly approaching a stallion she knew – Viscount Prince Blueblood, in a silver-gilded carriage, surrounded by his retinue. The caravan was taking up the entire street, so the cellist skidded to a halt. She had to find Lyra, but she couldn’t do that if she plowed into a noble and got arrested.

“Hold!” said Blueblood, and his retinue halted in its tracks. Blueblood loved that sort of pomp, Octavia knew, and was somewhat surprised that he didn’t have his ponies salute as he got out of his carriage. “Philharmonica, is that you?”

“Yes, Viscount.”

“I have been trying to reach you for three days. You have not responded to my messages.” He frowned. “I was about to send a personal courier, in fact.”

“I have not been home in that time. I have been staying in Canterlot Castle.”

“Oh. I see.” He paused, then shrugged, as if agreeing to overlook some fault. “Well, at least we can talk now! I have heard that your patron has abandoned you – and in your moment of need, too.”

“That’s not your concern,” said Octavia. Go away!

“Oh, but it is. Your music is sublime!” Octavia knew that Blueblood, despite his substantial education, was not the best at listening to music. He could rattle off the history of the sonata, but he couldn’t hear the difference between a violin and a viola. His compliments were therefore meaningless flattery. “It would be a shame if your career were ruined over some silly symphony, with your ally refusing to help!”

“Viscount, I—“

“Ah, ah,” said Blueblood, holding up a hoof. “As it turns out, Miss Philharmonica, I have a solution.” He grinned. “Greengrass, it seems, has abandoned you. How would you a like a patron that won’t? Join my side, instead of his, and I can guarantee you access just as good as he provided – and something else too.” He chuckled. “A certain medicine that I know of, very rare, which causes obvious and visible illness for five days. My doctors will personally swear that you cannot go out in public lest you infect others. You will have a perfect excuse for not playing the symphony!”

So that’s your plan? And you’re just going to shout it out in public? Well, I guess you haven’t realized that your hoofmare there is on Greengrass’s payroll yet. But Octavia didn’t have time to waste mocking Blueblood for detailing his political intentions to precisely the wrong pony. “I’m not interested.”

“Not – Philharmonica, this could save your career!”

“Luna isn’t stupid. She would know what we did,” said Octavia. “Besides. I don’t flake on my performances.” She began to hurry by him. “Excuse me.”

“Hold!” cried Blueblood.

The smart thing to do would be to humor the stallion, Octavia knew. But she was tired, and stressed, and had no time for the idiot. “If I succeed, you won’t be able to touch me, Blueblood. If I fail, or don’t show, I’ll have lost everything and there will be nothing more you could do to me.” She glared at him. “Now, excuse me.” And she left.

Blueblood stared as she galloped away. Then he turned back to his retinue. “To the castle. Now. I must speak with Duke Greengrass at once.”

How can she be so willing to do this, even when offered a way out? She and Greengrass must be planning something, some way to pull off the Symphony. He narrowed his eyes. Let’s see what he has to say for himself.

The Music Academy. If Lyra wasn’t there, Octavia wouldn’t know where else to look.

Unfortunately, the Academy was huge. The receptionist and door staff were no help; they didn’t remember seeing Lyra come in, and the receptionist had hinted that Octavia would be smart to leave soon. She was soon to be shunned by the Princess, of course, and the school bore their ruler’s name. They couldn’t be associated with any pony she disliked. But Octavia had ignored this advice and pressed on.

Lyra wasn’t in the practice halls. Nor was she in the cafeteria, the academic classrooms, the teacher offices, or the quad. After a full hour of running all over the campus, Octavia had made no progress whatsoever.

She must have caught the train to Ponyville. Or somewhere else. If she took the train, she could travel to any city in the country. I would never find her.

But she couldn’t convince herself to give up just yet. As long as there was at least a chance that Lyra was nearby, that she was still in town, Octavia would keep looking. She wouldn’t give up unless there was absolutely no hope at all.

Why is it I only realized how much I needed her once I pushed her away? I’m a fool – no. Not yet. I won’t give up yet. There’s still a chance.

Even the hardy Octavia was becoming tired by all of her exertion, and she reluctantly paused her search to purchase a bottle of water from the cafeteria. “I don’t suppose you’ve seen a sea-green mare, with a harp for a cutie mark, have you?” she asked the cafeteria mare.

“Nope. Sorry, hun. Hay fries?”

Octavia gulped down the water as quickly as she could, eyes darting around for any sign of her friend. Where else was there? The campus didn’t have many other areas that were open to the public and the alumni. The library, maybe, but Octavia couldn’t think of what Lyra would be doing there. She already had a copy of the Symphony score, and Octavia doubted that Lyra was much in the mood to learn new music at the moment. There were also a few athletic fields, the pool, and a small shopping area for music-specific supplies (reeds, staff paper, even metronomes). Octavia didn’t know why Lyra would be at any of those places either, though. Still, she had to look.

“Octavia! Octavia Philharmonica!”

Octavia turned to see Dean Cantabile. Behind her were three large earth ponies with ‘security’ badges.

Oh. Right. I’m not allowed on campus anymore.

“Octavia,” said the Dean, approaching. “You’re not supposed to be here. You know why.”

“I’m looking for a friend.”

“Sorry. I need to ask you to leave.” Her eyes narrowed. “I sympathize with you, but this school is endowed by the Princess. She sits on the board of directors. We can’t risk offending her.”

Her too. Are Lyra and that burglar the only ponies who will stand by me? “Dean. I only need a little time. You know how much money, and how many students, I have brought here. Whatever the reputation—“

“I’m sorry. I don’t have a choice.” Cantabile nodded at the guards. “Please don’t make a scene.”

“Dean, if you’ll just give me a chance—“ Octavia spun on her hooves and took off at a dead run. She spent most of her days balancing an instrument that was bigger than she was, and quite heavy. Her legs were quite strong. As a result, she was a good distance across the quad before the others could react.

“Hey – get her!” managed the Dean.

Octavia sped up as the guards began to pursue her. I probably won’t be able to search more than one more area before they catch me. Library… that’s the most likely place left. Lyra, please be there. I need you to be there.

Octavia burst into the library, dashed past the startled librarian, and darted into the stacks.

If she’s here, it’s probably for information on the symphony. That should be up on the second floor… okay, the stairwell is there, but they’ll see me… She smiled ruefully. That cat burglar would be useful here.

Fine. I’ll just have to be fast. She approached the stairs, took a breath, and then raced up.

Not fast enough. “She’s up there!” It was a whisper – clearly the guards didn’t want to attract attention – but in the quiet library, Octavia had no problem hearing them. Her ears were powerful enough to tell ponies apart by their gaits; whispers weren’t hard for her to pick up when she was listening for them.

Hurry!

She topped the stairs and continued down the rows. Music from one millennia ago, music that lasted for more than forty minutes, music from that time, of that length, of the right genre…

She turned into the aisle.

Lyra wasn’t there.

Don’t panic! She might just be at a study table! (Meanwhile, she could hear the guards making their way up the stairs). Keep listening!

She made it to the nearest open area. A few ponies were working at desks, but Lyra was not among them. She was nowhere in sight. And, as far as hearing—

Octavia heard the faintest hint of lyre music.

Yes! That way!

The cellist took off, now starting to feel winded, but forcing herself onwards. Down the stacks, dodging sharply to the left to get around a fat stallion who was blocking most of the aisle, and towards a little door in the back of the hall.

Student records? Why? But I’m sure of it, I can hear her!

The music grew louder as Octavia raced down the hallway. Another door, another hallway, a third door, and…

It was a small room, with old copies of the school paper and ancient lists of awards. Lyra was in one corner, strumming her lyre with her hooves and levitating papers out of the cabinets with her magic. She looked up as the door banged open. “Octavia?” She was clearly stunned. “How did you find me?”

Octavia looked at Lyra. She had no idea what was going on. “What are you doing here?” she managed, in between gasps for air.

“I was looking up the records of the concerts you performed. I thought maybe it would remind you of the good music you played.”

Octavia felt a warm, swelling sensation. She still cares for me. She bowed her head. “Thank you,” she whispered.

“You’re welcome… but I thought you didn’t want my help?”

Octavia approached the lyrist. “I was wrong. Please, I beg you. Help me with the Symphony. If – if you’re willing to take the risk, if you think I’m worth it…” She trailed off, unable to finish.

Lyra paused, and the two stared at each other for a long moment. Finally, the green mare asked, “What changed your mind?”

“A friend helped me realize that I was being foolish.” She bowed her head again. “Lyra… I don’t want to be blacklisted. I want to keep playing, and I don’t think the situation I am in is just. Will you help me?”

Lyra set the papers down and considered. She couldn’t deny that she was still angry from before, and even though Octavia was begging her, she wasn’t sure she could just set everything aside. “Are you sure? You don't think you deserve to fail anymore?”

“Lyra, whatever your faults, you are an extraordinary musician and an incredible friend. You have saved the world and all the ponies in it. Any standards that condemn you cannot be valid… even my own.” She bowed her head. “I was wrong. I can only apologize again, and beg your pardon. But I need you, Lyra. I can’t do this by myself, I can’t even focus on the music. I am scared; scared that I will never play again, that I will have nothing left. I need a friend. Please…”

The green mare hesitated… and then smiled. She didn’t seem to be quite clear on what exactly had happened, but she looked happy nonetheless. “Of course, Octavia. That’s all I—“

Octavia smiled in relief. “Thank you.”

And then somepony pounded on the door. “Open up in there!”

“Huh?” asked Lyra.

Octavia blushed. “Ah, I should probably have mentioned that I am technically no longer permitted on campus…”

Lyra stared, and then burst into giggles.

(Bonus) The thirty-ninth attempt: Sweet Song

(600 years post Celestia)

Off Beat looked out at the stage and could not quite contain his grin. Finally. Finally, he would either get a fraction of his due, or be free of that millstone around his neck forever.

His sister, Sweet Song, was called a ‘savant’ by their parents. That was a very fancy word, despite being only six letters long, but Off Beat knew what it meant. It meant that she could only do one thing – in her case, play music. She couldn’t do anything else; she couldn’t feed herself, or dress herself, or stay out in public for long without supervision. But she could play music, she certainly could, and so she was still the flower and joy of the family. The others had to take second fiddle to her, always and forever, because of her superlative talent. But wasn’t that fair?

No. No it was not.

Everypony loved her. They said her music was spectacular. And it was, but of course, that was all she had to do. She wasn’t capable of attending school with the other foals, so she could stay home and practice. She wasn’t capable of doing chores. Hay, Off Beat was pretty sure that she wasn’t capable of speech. So she remained in her room all day, doing the only thing she could, practicing her music for hours upon hours. Was it any wonder she was good?

Meanwhile, Off Beat went to school. Off Beat did more than his share of chores around their household. Off Beat even got a part-time job, a long and tiring route delivering papers, so that he could have a few bits of his own. And, of course, he also practiced music. Was he as good as Sweet Song, who thanks to her disability could spend sixteen hours a day playing? No. But he was still decent, and he’d have qualified for the Music Academy…

If the family had the money. But no. It went to help pay for the medical care that Sweet Song required.

If it wasn’t for her, Off Beat thought several times a day, I wouldn’t have to work so hard, and I’d have more time to practice. (His schedule was reasonably rigorous -- yes, he did spend evenings out partying with friends or weekends sleeping in, but he wanted to have some relaxation, and he did manage to squeeze in several hours of practice a week.) I’d be able to buy a better violin. Get a good tutor. My family could send me to the Academy, where I could really get well known. But no! She had to ruin everything, because she’s sick and so we all have to suffer for her.

Off Beat had gone to a community college near his family’s home. He’d majored in business, and he’d made good grades. Upon graduation, he’d been planning on heading to Canterlot and trying to make his own way there, but his parents had cornered him. “Sweet Song needs an agent,” they said. “Couldn’t you try? She’d pay you well, and besides, she doesn’t trust many ponies.”

Well, of course. She just relies on me and you, because we’re here and we’ve made it quite clear that we’ll suffer as much as she needs for her sake. Off Beat had been prepared to refuse, to snap at his parents that he was done with her.

But then he’d had a better idea. He’d have his revenge. He’d show the world that, behind Sweet Song’s beautiful performances on stage, lay a total helpless wreck who could only exist as long as she could drain others around her.

He’d taken the job as her agent, and he’d done a very good job. He got her gigs. Good gigs. A lot of gigs. More gigs than most musicians could handle, enough to push even Sweet’s talents to their limits. And he’d smiled from the sidelines, waiting for her to crack or crumble on stage. One failure was all it would take for the music world to pass her over; then he’d have the perfect reason to abandon her and get a real job somewhere.

But she somehow managed to play everything. It kept her up at all hours to learn the music, her health was clearly suffering, and he could tell – oh, she never spoke, but he could see it in her eyes – that she was finally almost as unhappy as he was. He saw her at night, sometimes, crying as she tried to master some absurdly difficult piece that Off Beat had scheduled her to play. But she played everything nonetheless, taking all the challenges he could throw at her. He’d been enraged. Could nothing stop her?

And then he’d learned of the Symphony.

What a stroke of luck that was! It was said that nopony could play it; any who tried were shunned. When Off Beat had learned this, he’d kissed the score, like it was a priceless jewel. It was the answer to all his problems.

If Sweet played it, and somehow got it right, Luna would want to talk to her. And then she would immediately see that she was a complete… well, ‘savant,’ was the nice way to put it. She would know that Sweet Song had to have had help. And Off Beat would finally get the credit he deserved for all the sacrifices he’d made for his sister. That had to be worth something. Money, maybe, or perhaps a tutor. Maybe even a few concerts. After all, if it wasn’t for his sister, he’d be great by now. Luna would see that, and she was just. She’d want to compensate him.

And if his dear sister failed?

Then Luna wouldn’t talk to Sweet Song; she’d just storm out. Song would take the fall. And then, when she was in the dungeons, or banished, or off in some other purgatory, Off Beat would be free. He wouldn’t need to work with her anymore. She wouldn’t be able to drag him or his family down. It would finally, finally be over.

Off Beat understood little of this style of music, though of course he’d picked some things up from his work as his sister’s agent. He knew, vaguely, what this particular Symphony was to be about, and he’d even hired another pony to write the missing movement. It was mostly just a recapitulation of the other four; after all, the performance should hew as closely as possible to the original, and since the original fifth movement was missing, the best option was to ape the style of the remaining sections. Sure, maybe he could have put a little more effort into the new movement… but he didn’t honestly care.

Come on, sis. Let’s let the world see you like you really are.

On stage, Sweet Song was finishing. Off Beat tensed in anticipation. And… and nothing! No applause! No cheers!

Luna’s voice boomed from above. “Remove her from the stage at once!”

Yes! YES! Go to Tartarus! Off Beat had to fight very, very hard not to cheer. I am going to go home, I am going to throw out her crap, and I am going to have the biggest party Baltimare has ever known! I am—

“Excuse us.”

Off Beat turned to see two ponies looking at him. They were wearing weird uniforms, and it took him a moment to place them as members of the Night Guard.

“Y-yes?”

“Princess Luna wishes to speak with you,” said one, moving around him.

“Your cooperation is most appreciated.”

“But – but, I really have business—“

“It will have to wait.” The first guard smiled, but there was no warmth in it. “Princess Luna is quite interested to know how, exactly, Miss Song wound up playing that piece before her.”

“She felt that you, her agent, might have some idea.”

“What? No!” But he couldn’t resist the guards, and was led away.

Bardsong

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That sounds perfect.”

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

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

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

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

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

Lyra did.

“Hmm… still not quite fast enough.”

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

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

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

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

“What? No. It was there.”

“It was tiny!”

“It was appropriately sized—“

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

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

“Much better.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Lyra.”

“What?”

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

“I feel like a foal,” grumbled Octavia.

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

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

“My coat will get grass stains, and—“

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Scared?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Lyra grinned. “That helped? Really?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Anything,” said Lyra.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

No. No, that is not going to happen.

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

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

But how to do it?

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

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

Or maybe he could –

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

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

(Bonus) The forty-ninth attempt: Piano Amour

930 years post Celestia

Piano Amour looked out at the audience and nodded. There was little left to do. Just the one final step, and then… then it was out of her hooves.

She didn’t want to retrace the steps that it had taken to get here. She knew them all by heart. Her mother’s business had suffered a run of bad luck, her daughter had broken her wings in a bad fall, her cousin had been scammed out of his life savings, her husband had crashed his carriage into that of a rich Viceroy and had been sued … a stream of problems, each worse than the last. At this point, the once-mighty Amour family was staring at bankruptcy and ruination.

Was it really a hundred years ago that they’d held seats on the Court, counted generals and Courtiers as their closest friends, given advice to the princess herself? How times changed. There had been rumors, of course, of some horrific deed, some monstrous crime committed by an ancestor from a century prior, after which the Amour house had slowly but inevitably collapsed. Piano didn’t suppose it much mattered. Penury was penury, whatever the cause.

Piano Amour had no particular talents at business or politics. She had been a pianist, a fine and noble profession, if not normally the most profitable one. She’d been told that she’d been born in the wrong century; an Amour pianist, after all, could have had a splendid life in the past. Now, though, she could only wish she had a talent that was more useful at keeping her family in their homes.

But she didn’t, which was why Piano Amour had embarked on her last hope. Besides this, there was only public charity, and though nearly broke, she was still a proud Amour. She would not beg for alms from the public trough. But if Luna would elevate the family again, that was different. She had been unable to get an appointment with the princess, though, which left her to resort to the Symphony. I don’t care if Luna banishes me for playing it. To banish me, she has to talk to me, and that means I can talk to her. I’ll beg her to save the Amour family. I don’t care if I get thrown to the wolves later.

Of course, she didn’t want to be banished. And she had… well, thoughts… on how the piece could perhaps be played. Thoughts drawn from her own experience. Thoughts that she figured the others who attempted it might not have understood. And if, just if, she could play it right… maybe that would be enough to reverse the decline of the Amour house. Maybe her children could grow up in the environment she yearned for them to have.

She had to try.

So she took the stage, thanked the audience, and especially thanked Luna. “I know this piece has a… history, but I am pleased to see that you, your majesty, came regardless. Your subject is grateful for your appearance.”

And then she played.

It was slower than the other renditions, more mournful. And the ending, of course, was far different than anything any other pony had tried. There was the fight, of course, oh was there a fight – a knock-down, drag-out, hateful, spiteful fight, with clashing melodies that annihilated each other, melodies representing a war between two sisters that could have no winner in any meaningful sense. Yes, Luna was ultimately left standing, but with a shattered kingdom and a shattered heart.

I think you felt what it was like to lose your family, to let them down, princess, thought Piano, as she strived to perfect each theme. I don’t think you were happy about your victory. I think sometimes you lie in bed and wonder if it would have been easier had you let Corona win.

The Amour family hadn’t retained much, but they still had many, many books that they hadn’t been able to sell off and hadn’t (yet) had to burn for heat. Histories, mostly. Piano had read through them, and she knew of the dark days that followed Corona’s defeat. Of the land plunging into twelve years of chaos, of Luna’s drunken spree throughout the country. It was an alicorn in total despair.

The piece ended with a long, slow, and sad sequence. Luna, the victor but alone. Corona dead, the country in ruins. It wasn’t clear if the Luna theme even thought it was good that she won – certainly, in moments, it seemed almost suicidal, summoning up snatches of Corona’s theme as if wishing to have her sister back, though it meant her own destruction, though it meant leveling the country in burning fire. It was how, Piano was certain, Luna had felt.

Maybe that would move her heart, where all the politic, bowdlerized renditions had only moved her to anger at their glib dishonesty. And even if it didn’t… well, to banish her, they’d have to talk. Piano would settle for that.

Piano opened her eyes and looked towards Luna’s booth. Would the mare be smiling? Crying? Or would she have raised a hoof in anger?

None of those. Luna was gone.

She wasn’t even going to talk to Piano.

Feeling lower than ever before, Piano rose and left the stage and whispering audience behind her. She would cry, she told herself, when she got home.

“Piano Amour.”

Piano’s head shot up. Luna was standing before her, on the creaky backstage area like it was her throne room. And she looked… angry, yes… but also understanding. At least a little bit.

“I understand,” she said, in a quiet voice, “Your family’s straits. I apologize for not doing more earlier. Your family has always served the Court well and with wisdom.”

Amour blinked. Could it be? Was Luna going to save them?

“But,” and now there was ice and steel in her voice, “Your circumstances do not give you the right to bring up my history in a transparent attempt to circumvent my secretary. They do not give you the right to lie about me.” She approached Piano. “Do you truly believe,” she said, “That I care so little for my subjects that I would ever wish that it was Corona who was the victor?”

Piano didn’t know what to say. “I… I don’t know, your majesty. All I know is my own feelings.”

“Then you had no right to play that piece.” Luna sighed. “I acknowledge your courage, and your love for your family. I will… see to it that the Amour decline is arrested. I will not build your house back up – the Court is a meritocratic institution, and I cannot and will not interfere in that manner – but you need not worry about homelessness, or destitution.”

Tears filled Piano’s eyes. “Thank you!”

“I am not done.” Luna turned away from Piano. “You admit that you played a piece that you did not understand, though it took me and my sister as the subject. You have betrayed your art, and you have lied about me to your audience. I would think very carefully, Piano, about this before attempting another piece in my earshot.” Piano could feel the chill emanating from her. “I will not forgive you a second time.”

Luna vanished in a blueish mist, leaving Piano to stare after her in wonder. She didn’t care if she could never play in public again. Her family was safe, and that was what mattered.

That was the only thing that mattered.

Snapped Strings

As the concert neared, Octavia continued to practice in the tower room, working out and refining the ending. It would be the most difficult movement she ever played. Innumerable voices, and they all had to be exactly right. Failure was, for every reason, not an option.

This is the most important performance of my whole career. Lyra’s fate, and mine, depend on this. I will not allow myself to fail.

The burglar hadn’t come back since she’d shouted some sense into Octavia, even though Octavia had put the little piece of parchment out the window indicating that she wanted to speak with her. But the cellist had a feeling that the burglar would be at the concert. I don’t know how, but she knows about music. I think she’ll be able to appreciate what I do.

Octavia frowned as one of her notes came out a trifle fast, went back, and played through the section again. I am playing for the princess. It must be perfect.

And she smiled. And it will be. I am one of the best cellists in the country, and I have my friends at my back. I will defeat you, Greengrass.

Lyra Heartstrings had planned on taking a tour of her favorite shops, parks, and restaurants from her Academy days, but she found herself too jittery to appreciate any of it. So, rather than waste her time and her bits on entertainment that she wouldn’t enjoy, she picked a park and began to play.

“Hey,” a guard called as her lyre appeared before her. “No busking without a license.”

“I’m not busking,” she said. “I’m not collecting money. Just staying in practice.”

Soon, she had an appreciable crowd around her. She smiled, playing a fast and excited piece she’d learned at the Academy. Soon, many of the audience members – especially the foals – were clapping their hooves in time to the music, which Lyra incorporated into her performance to get some syncopation effects.

I’m not worried, she thought. Well… maybe just a little. But Octavia can do it. I believe in her.

She sped up a little, and a few of the ponies around her – a couple of teenage ponies, clearly on some kind of date – began to dance in time with the music. She grinned and added a more obvious dance beat. Music, she thought, had a magical quality all of its own. Surely it could move even an ageless alicorn.

“Now,” said Blueblood, looking at the unicorns and earth ponies in front of him, “Here are your orders.”

The leader of the quartet, a wiry unicorn named Emoter, nodded brusquely. “Yes sir.”

Blueblood continued in a calm, steady voice. “Emoter. You will use your magic on Octavia to charm her. You will then lead her without harming her to the warehouse, where you will keep her thus charmed until after the beginning of the concert.” He looked at the other unicorn. “Mirage. If Octavia has bodyguards or other ponies with her, use your illusions to distract and separate them until Emoter has charmed Octavia and removed her from the scene. And you two,” he nodded at the earth ponies, “Keep the unicorns safe and make sure no other faction seizes Octavia. If any other noble tries to intervene by sending thugs, you can hurt them, and only them.”

Emoter inclined her head. “Yes, sir. We’ll get her.”

“Let me make one thing very clear.” Blueblood nodded sharply. “It must look like Octavia did not show up due to her own choice. Restraint marks, bruises, anything like that will ruin the illusion. And don’t think I’ll go to bat for you if that happens.”

“Sir, we’re professionals,” said Heavy. “We can capture her without leaving a mark. You can count on it.”

“Couldn’t we just steal her cello?” asked Mirage. “She can’t play without it, right?”

“I have reason to believe, from the information Greengrass gave me a few weeks ago, that her green friend can summon instruments magically,” said Blueblood. “So, no, that won’t work. Restrain her. Hide her. Don’t let her reach the concert hall.”

“Yes sir!” said the four ponies.

Blueblood smiled and dismissed them. He wished he could see the look on Greengrass’s face when he found out that his plans were ruined.

“Sir, I have news.”

Greengrass yawned as he awoke. It was mid-afternoon; a bit early for him, but then again, Notary would only awake him for important information that couldn’t wait. “What is it, Notary?”

“I just received word from Viscount Blueblood’s hoofmare. Blueblood is going to interfere with Philharmonica’s concert. He’s hired Heavy Hitter, Emoter, and a few other mercenaries to prevent her from reaching the concert hall in time.”

Greengrass paused – and then burst into laughter. “Why in Equestria would he do that?”

“He seems to think he will be thwarting a scheme of yours.”

“By causing exactly the outcome that I want?” Greengrass began to get out of bed. “Well, I suppose I can’t blame him for not knowing that. Still, bad move on his part. Now if this plan gets exposed, we can pin the blame on him.”

“Sir, if Philharmonica has a reason not to make the concert – namely, being abducted – she could get out of the performance without losing face.” Notary inclined her head at the door. “I can send Ox and Bear to head them off.”

“No, don’t. If I send my agents to help her, that implies that I’m backing her and helping her with the concert that Luna hates. It would be a great excuse for Luna to blacklist me and have me shut out of Court life.” He shook his head. “Besides, the whole point here is that I’m firing Octavia. It would defeat the point if I helped her now.”

Notary paused. “And if, say, Heavy Hitter has Octavia tied up in a warehouse somewhere, and she is discovered? Or if he makes a mistake and leaves proof of the abduction, such as by tying ropes around her legs and leaving marks? It could give her enough of an excuse to prevent Luna from shunning her.”

“…I don’t think that will be a concern.” Greengrass rose and approached the door. “First of all, Heavy and Emoter are reasonably competent. Screwing up like that might happen, but it’s unlikely. Second, that would only come out later. At the concert itself, Octavia would fail to appear, and she’d be condemned by Luna and the Court. She could only get out from under that if somepony proclaimed far and wide what happened, and why that meant it wasn’t her fault.” He smiled thinly. “She has no political allies to make that argument for her, and we know that she would never make it herself. She won’t excuse any failure of hers; this one will be no different.”

Notary nodded.

“But I do hope she manages to give them the slip, though. Either way, her career is over – and Lulamoon gets the message – but, all else being equal,” and he smiled like a foal at Hearth’s Warming Eve, “I would love to hear that Symphony performed by such a master. They say it’s one of the most beautiful pieces ever written, and it’s not been performed in seventy years. Oh, were the Elements to be delivered to me on a silver platter – but could only be signed for just as Octavia began that piece – I would be hard pressed to choose.” He got up and began trotting towards the door. “I trust you have something to wear?”

“Yes, sir. Although it does seem a waste to get dressed up for a show that might not happen.”

“Ah ah, Notary, that’s not quite right. The music might not happen, but either way, Luna is going to have a very interesting reaction. I think we’ll be in for a show regardless.”

Night fell, and the concert approached.

Octavia checked her watch. It was 8. The concert began at 10. It took about twenty minutes to walk from her current location – the castle drawbridge – to the concert hall,. Factoring in time for tuning, warming-up, possible emergencies, and her own desire to arrive at any venue substantially before she needed to… she had to leave within two minutes.

She smiled. She knew that she should be worried, but she felt a deep joy instead. Whatever happened afterwards, she was playing a beautiful work – and for the audience that she’d always wanted to play for, the princess of Equestria herself. And she had her friends at her back. That mattered.

She began to trot towards the concert hall, cello in its case and safely strapped to her back. It was a beautiful night and she wanted to listen to the city before she reached the venue. As much as she loved sunrise, there was also something lovely about the first few hours of the night in Canterlot. The day businesses were closed, but those that served the Court and its Courtiers were just opening up. There was a bustling sound to everything.

As she walked down a wide street, passing by the familiar shops and restaurants, she felt a slight twinge from the back of her head. Great. A headache is just what I need. She smiled. Then again, that’s why I practice even when I’m sick. I’ve given concerts with colds or aches before. This isn’t—

Doom.

Octavia blinked. Where had that word come from? She hadn’t heard it. Some stray thought, she supposed, from when she had been worried about Lyra leaving and—

You’re doomed.

Was somepony sending those thoughts to her? “Stop that,” she snapped, looking around. Was it just her, or did it seem… darker, somehow? Like the streetlamps, and even the stars, had dimmed.

But it’s okay. You deserve to fail. This is just.

“Stop it!” She tried to go faster, but her legs felt oddly frozen. She couldn’t do more than stumble a few steps. “I will call the guards. I will—“

Whatever else she would do would never be known, because that bizarre numbness reached her mouth. She sagged, struggling just to remain upright.

You’re a hopeless failure. You deserve nothing but destitution and disgrace. How could a depraved pony like you hope to look Luna in the eye? And she was seeing images that weren’t really there, memories from when she’d agreed to work for Greengrass, from when she’d agreed to bring Lyra back to Canterlot. From when she’d thrown Lyra out of her practice room.

“Get… get away…” she hissed, struggling to take another step. Why was it so dark? “I’m over this…”

A friendless traitor like you? No. You’ve still got just enough honesty to know the depths of your degraded character. The voice was booming in her mind, seeming to absorb all her other thoughts. She couldn’t form a plan, couldn’t even think to call for help. It was like whoever was doing this was hijacking all her mental energy to castigate her.

“Get out of… of my head…” she managed.

I don’t think so, Tavi. You can’t get rid of me. Maybe you can ignore me for a while, but I’ll always be there. Even if you scam your way to some reward or renown, I’ll make sure you know you don’t deserve it. The last words echoed in Octavia’s head, drowning out her increasingly feeble protest.

She raised a hoof, but then lowered it back down. She couldn’t seem to go forward. Her entire mind was shouting at her not to bother, that it didn’t matter, that she didn’t deserve to take even one more step.

So she only stood there, staring at nightmares.

“Nice work,” said Heavy Hitter. “Took a while, though.”

“She’s beyond stubborn,” hissed Emoter. Her horn was glowing, a bright fiery red. “Mare’s got a hard head to crack.”

“Is she ours, now?”

“Well, you – urgh – you won’t be able to get her to assassinate anypony or jump off a bridge, but yeah, she’ll follow you into a locked closet somewhere. Not enough left in her head to care that it’s a bad idea.”

Heavy Hitter approached Octavia. “Hey, sis?” He waved a hoof in front of her. “Sis?”

A guard was walking by. “Is she okay?”

“Sorry. My sister gets like this sometimes. Ever since Corona’s return… well, we’re getting her treatment” Heavy Hitter shook his head. “Come on, sis. Let me walk you home.” He began leading her away, off the main road. She followed docilely.

“Hey, Tower. Get her cello, would you?” said Heavy, as the guard moved away.

Tower, the other earth pony in the group, carefully unstrapped it from Octavia’s back. The mare gave no more than a feeble protest, which quieted as Emoter redoubled her spell. Mirage approached as well. “Where do you want it?”

Heavy Hitter thought. “Away from her, where she can’t get it even if she somehow escapes, but where it won’t be damaged. You know what? Just put it in Canterlot Bank.”

“…the bank?”

“Yeah, get a safe deposit box and store it there. We’ll leave the key with her once we clear out.”

“Right, boss.” Tower hefted the cello. “Wow. This thing’s heavy.”

“Just move it,” said Heavy. “Then meet us at the warehouse. We’ll stay there until just after 10, then clear out. Let’s go.”

Heavy led Octavia down into a side street. The unicorns followed.

True loyalty

Lyra frowned. Where was Octavia?

The cellist always liked to be at a venue at least an hour and a half before the curtain. In fact, she was fanatical about arriving that early. It gave her time to check her tuning, make sure the venue was set up to her standards (and fix it if it wasn’t), and have a few minutes to calm herself before the show.

But now it was thirty minutes to curtain, and there was no sign of the mare.

The event was ostensibly a party to celebrate the signing of a treaty with some southern country. Lyra wanted to enjoy the food and other entertainment – there was a jester show going on at the moment -- but she couldn’t keep herself distracted by thinking of that. Octavia should have arrived at least an hour ago, but she was not present. She hadn’t even sent word that she’d be late.

She could have been running behind due to practicing; as she’d predicted the other day, she may have been delayed by some kink or rough patch in the Symphony.

She could be stuck in some sort of traffic jam; maybe construction had shut down a road or closed a bridge.

Or…

No. She did not flake. I know she didn’t. She wouldn’t. She is my friend and she wouldn’t leave me hanging – and she wouldn’t surrender without even fighting for her career. She shook her head slightly. I will not doubt her. She did not flake, and she will arrive in time.

She nodded to herself and shifted slightly in her seat. Yes. Octavia would be here to perform, and--

“Excuse me.” A unicorn in a regal outfit had approached her while she’d been distracted. “Miss… Heartstrings, was it?”

“Yes.” I don’t remember him from that concert I gave a few months back. So if he knows me, it’s probably because I’m an Element. Great. I don’t need this now…

“My name is Prince Blueblood. Allow me to formally welcome you to the Night Court,” he said. “I do hope you enjoy yourself.”

“Thanks.” Lyra tried to smile at him. “I intend to.”

“You know, I think I read about you in the paper.” Blueblood smiled, but it was obviously fake. “Ah, yes, you’re helping Philharmonica with her concert, aren’t you?” He shook his head. “I’m sorry that she hasn’t arrived.”

“She will.”

“Well… of course, we all hope that.” Blueblood shrugged. “But who knows? I’m sure you’re aware of the reputation of this piece, and—“

“She will be here.” Lyra stood. “I am certain of it.”

“I’m sure you are. You seem like a most… loyal friend. But in case she isn’t quite as loyal and runs away, well, there could be some political fallout. The Princess might well be upset at any pony who was involved.” He smiled again, still clearly faking it. “You know, I have some influence with the Princess. If you wanted, Miss Heartstrings, I could try to ensure that she understood it wasn’t your fault.”

Lyra raised an eyebrow. “And in exchange?”

“Oh, nothing much. But, well, you’re a bit special, Miss Heartstrings. An Element and all. So—“

As she thought. “I’m not interested,” she said, turning away.

“I – now, see here, Miss Heartstrings.” Blueblood frowned. “If Miss Philharmonica doesn’t show, and you don’t have protection, it could damage your career. Permanently. Nopony associated with this piece has ever performed again. You need a patron.”

“I said no.” Lyra glared at him. “I trust Octavia a lot more than I trust you.”

Blueblood looked stunned. “Do you know who I am?”

“Yeah, Trixie Lulamoon told me about you.”

“Well, I don’t know what that fool—“

“I say!” Fancy Pants trotted over. “Is everything alright? You two look almost… agitated!” He shook his head. “This is a party. A celebration! We shouldn’t be fighting.” He smiled genially.

Blueblood glanced at him. “No trouble here. I was just stepping away, actually. Good luck, Miss Heartstrings.” He smiled. “I’ll be back later.”

When he was gone, Lyra sighed. “Thanks.”

“Oh, think nothing of it.” Fancy Pants grinned. “By the way, I couldn’t help overhearing a bit of that. I also think Miss Philharmonica will arrive. She’s never missed a concert yet.”

“No, she hasn’t.” Lyra nodded. “And she won’t miss this one.”

Don’t move. Don’t talk. Don’t even think. Mere existence is more than you deserve!

Octavia knew there were arguments against that; she knew that she believed them now, but she couldn’t come up with them. Her thoughts were scattered and disjointed, and whenever she started trying to organize them, they slipped away like grains of sand. It was only very recently that she had stopped believing these things; they were still too fresh and raw for her to have internalized any defenses against them. She could figure out, vaguely, what she was supposed to do – getting up would be a good start, followed by leaving the warehouse – but she couldn’t hold onto those ideas long enough to implement them.

Just stay perfectly still. Maybe if you don’t interact with anypony, you won’t hurt them. Has anypony ever benefitted from knowing you? You reduced Lyra to tears, every colleague you ever know dropped you the minute things got hard… and there’s a reason for that, you know, it’s that you aren’t worth trying to save!

“No…” she groaned. “Stop it, please…”

The room was unusually dark, whatever had cursed her was making it hard to see. Her hooves felt numb when they brushed the floor, and when she bumped into the wall, she knew it more from her inability to move than from an actual physical sensation. Even her normally impeccable sense of time had gone haywire; she had no idea what day it was, much less what hour. Her hearing still worked, more or less, but that wasn’t helping. She could hear the ponies in a nearby street, businesses selling everything from sofas to quills, and, nearby, the breaths and hoofsteps of a few pacing ponies who were probably (not that it mattered, she couldn’t help but think) the ones holding her captive.

In the distance, from what had to be the castle park, she heard a nightingale trill. It reminded her a bit of Lyra; one of her songs, the Sonata for Birds, had been designed to imitate the gorgeous voices of the songbirds that Luna kept in her castle.

Lyra? She isn’t here, is she? She won’t bail you out of this one. She finally sees the real you, and decided that you weren’t worth it anymore.

A single moment passed.

And Octavia thought, No.

Octavia Philharmonica was not an Element. She could not use Elemental magic. But Lyra could. The lyrist was the Element of Loyalty, and that didn’t only matter when she was trying to take down some huge, unstoppable monster like the Tyrant Sun. It affected and colored all that she did. One could know of her loyalty, her devotion to her friends, without ever having known or met Corona. And Octavia, who knew Lyra better than most, knew this well.

Octavia could not muster the mental energy to run or walk; she could not open her mouth to call the guards; she would be hard-pressed, at that moment, to remember her own name. But she did know one thing: Lyra Heartstrings would not betray her. Her loyalty had been demonstrated so often over their time together, especially the past few days, that any thought to the contrary was self-evidently false. If Lyra knew where she was, she would be there. She would be there and would help Octavia however she could. That was all there was to it.

She would say, Octavia managed to think, That I should get up and walk away. I would say that I cannot. She would help me. She would play one of her songs… And she could practically hear it. Lyra would play something strong and forceful, something with a driving energy that demanded motion. Something with a strong beat, to help Octavia coordinate her stubbornly resistant legs. And something beautifully musical.

Yes. She could hear it. She, who had trained Lyra relentlessly, could hear exactly what her friend would play to help save her career.

Move, Lyra would have said. Get up. Don’t worry about timing; I’ll handle the coordination. Just move to the beat.

And Octavia, who had spent decades of her life learning how to respond to music, did so. She didn’t need conscious thought to do it. Reacting to music was practically instinctive to the cellist.

The melody increased pace, and Octavia began to trot. Her body and motions were perfectly coordinated with the illusory melody. Lyra, Octavia thought, would be right besides her. No matter how hard the music got, she would keep going, because she was Lyra Heartstrings and she wouldn’t stop until Octavia was safe.

The music driving her, Octavia exited through an arbitrary door and found herself in a side room. Two unicorns were there, one pacing, one focusing on some spell.

The music increased in speed and ferocity again. Octavia broke into a canter, bearing down at the two unicorns. She saw them look up, but she wasn’t really using her eyes. She wasn’t even using her ears. She could hear the music in her mind, and that was what mattered.

The music swelled in volume, a dramatic wave of sound that demanded an equally dramatic response. Octavia swiveled around and bucked. She felt her hooves connect with something hard and horn-like.

And the fuzz in her head vanished.

Conscious thought returned to Octavia, who grasped what had been done to her in a moment. She swiveled around, and saw with satisfaction that both unicorns were staring at her in unabashed terror. The one she had bucked had a nasty bruise – and was her horn cracked? – but her reaction was still more fear than pain.

“I,” hissed Octavia, “Am going to end you.”

And she approached.

“Lyra Heartstrings.”

Lyra didn’t bother to turn. “I told you, I’m not interested, Blueblood.”

“Twenty minutes are left. She can’t even tune up in that time.” Blueblood’s tone was triumphant. “You need help, and despite your insults, I’m still willing to offer it to you.”

“If I was going to make that deal, I’d have made it with Greengrass.”

Lyra couldn’t help but smile at Blueblood’s little choke of indignation. “Well, he seems unwilling to offer it at the moment.”

“I don’t care if there’s only twenty seconds left, she’ll arrive.” Lyra glared at him. “Don’t you have anything better to do?”

“Miss Heartstrings!” cried another pony. Lyra turned to see that it was a journalist. “Do you think Octavia will show up?”

“Did she flake?” called another.

“No,” she said, in a barely-restrained tone. “I mean, yes, she’ll show up, and no, she didn’t flake!”

“Sure you don’t want to duck out before Luna arrives?” She couldn’t even see who said this – some jerk from one of the upper booths. “Maybe she won’t notice that you were involved!”

“No!”

This last shout was loud enough to still other conversation in her vicinity. Lyra blushed, realizing that the other ponies were staring at her.

But now she had to say something. So she said, “For the last time, no. I’m not leaving and I’m not making any deals. Octavia Philharmonica will show up on time and will perform the Symphony for Moon and Sun, to Princess Luna’s satisfaction. That’s all I have to say on the subject.”

There were murmurs at that, but Lyra didn’t care. She stepped away from her seat, approached the stage, and sat on the edge. It was a clear signal; Lyra was waiting for Octavia, and she’d do it in the full view of the Court if that was what it took to demonstrate her sincerity.

Come on, Tavi, she thought, as the Court’s murmuring redoubled. Where are you?

“You will tell me where my cello is, now, or I will stomp you into so many pieces that all Luna’s guards could not reconstruct you!” roared Octavia.

Mirage had lasted a bit longer than Emoter, who was now unconscious in a heap. Still, she wasn’t completely crazy, and she knew that she was beat. “Canterlot Bank! That’s all I know! Tower put your cello there!”

Octavia scowled and bucked Mirage in the head. The mare collapsed in an unconscious heap. “Depraved. I can’t believe I thought I was as bad as ponies like you,” she hissed.

What time was it? She probably hadn’t missed the concert yet, or they’d have let her go. She still had time. She had to get to the bank, and –

As she strode out a side door and into an alley, she almost ran into Heavy Hitter.

Heavy stared at her, then looked over her shoulder at the two unicorns. “Well.” He frowned. “I’m not supposed to hurt you, but given what you just did to two of mine, I think my boss’ll make an exception.” He smirked. “Heavy Hitter. Mercenary.”

Octavia bent her legs slightly, so she could spring faster. “I will crush you.”

Heavy casually bucked the wall next to them, denting the brick-and-metal structure. “Unlikely. Stand down. I’ll go easy on you if you give up trying to escape.”

“I refuse.”

“Fine. I’ll—“

Something raced down the wall, leapt off, and landed right behind Heavy. He began to turn, but the newcomer’s horn glowed a bright white, and when she bucked him, there was a flash, a sizzle, and then a flying earth pony. Octavia winced as Heavy crashed into the wall.

Octavia stared at the burglar. “What are you doing here?”

“You have a concert in fifteen minutes. I came to find you.” The mare – still in that weird uniform that rendered all her features indistinct – seemed to smile. “Of course, you’d half-rescued yourself by the time I got here. Congratulations.”

“Thanks. We need to get to Canterlot Bank—“

Heavy got to his hooves. “Nice try,” he said. He didn’t even sound hurt. “Take a real shot this time!” He charged at the mare.

Octavia began to race at him, but the mare yelled, “No!” as she dodged. “Get to the concert! Lyra needs you!”

“What about you?”

“I did not just rob a bank and beat up one of these losers to see you miss the concert to help me fight this nitwit!” Her horn glowed as she dodged another blow, and Octavia saw her cello case float around the corner. “GO!”

Octavia raced past the two fighters, dodging Heavy’s kick, and hefted her case up onto her back. “I’ll call the guards!”

“Don’t bother. Just run! Hurry!”

Octavia looked at the position of the moon. Fifteen minutes to make a twenty minute walk – and that wasn’t counting set-up or tuning time. Could she make it?

Lyra helped me. Now I need to help her. I will make it in time.

She took off at a dead run.

Endgame Chorus

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

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

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

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

“Yes.”

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

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

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

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

“Isn’t she a friend of the cellist?”

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

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

“I’m not looking for a patron.”

Puissance had chuckled and withdrawn without saying anything else.

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

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

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

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

“No, sir.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

(“Foolish little mare. Everypony suffers.”)

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

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

(“Foolish little mare. Everypony suffers.”)

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

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

And then the entire Night Court burst into song:

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

No! She will be here!

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

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

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

I won’t lose faith in her!

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

Greengrass stood, feeling the urge to sing again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“The Court –“

“Forget the Court.” Octavia paused.

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

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

He turned to Notary:

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

Suddenly, his eyes widened.

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

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

Octavia sang to Lyra:

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

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

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

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

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

They embraced.

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

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

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

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

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

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

The clock struck ten.

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

The Symphony

Movement 1: Moderato. Court of Moon and Sun

The piece opened with a bustling winding melody from the middle reaches of the cello. It was evening in Canterlot. The shopkeepers were closing up and heading home, ready to greet their families – their lovely spouses, their joyful foals, their aged, wise parents. Now was the time for rest and relaxation, the day’s labors done and the night’s entertainment ahead.

The melody grew a bit more free and wild as the evening progressed. Wine flowed freely (and Octavia played a silly, intricate trill, the song of a pony free of cares, giddy with joy, and perhaps just slightly intoxicated), and ponies danced and sang. Overhead, the sun was descending smoothly. All was right with the world.

After some time – a few minutes or so – Octavia brought in the second group of themes and melodies. One, in the higher reaches of the cello, was regal, royal, and strong – Celestia, Princess of the Day, ruler of the land. Her theme gradually weakened a tiny bit – it was the end of the day, after all – but there was no mistaking the solid power at the core of the melody. The middle voices gradually changed to conform to it, following its outline and contours in a grand melodic procession from the mid-range to the highest reaches of the instrument; the voices of ponies who loved their ruler and would follow her lead in all things.

And the third melody, the lowest of the three, began softly but steadily gained power. It was mysterious and transitory, shifting in and out, impossible to keep an ear on, yet a constant presence nonetheless. It built and grew, expanding as evening changed to dusk, and then dusk to twilight. Luna Equestris, who ruled the night, had arrived. The moon rose, and her theme swelled, rising to the middle of the cello. And the three melodies played in a harmonious duet, the two rulers of Equestria presiding over their beloved subjects.

And then Luna’s theme came closer to Celestia’s, and Celestia’s to Luna’s, and they met in the middle, and the three voices sang as one – still distinct, somehow, Octavia kept them just enough apart for that – but in perfect unison. It was Equestria as it ought to be. Perfect harmony and friendship between all ponies.

And then the voices combined into one single, glorious melody that swept over the Court in the audience. Was it a faint rebuke of their greedy schemes? It was impossible to say. All that could be said was that Octavia had captured the idea of unity, of harmony, between Night, and Day, and the ponies in between – the citizenry of Equestria.

The movement ended on a high, uplifting sequence of notes, and a perfect authentic cadence to complete the phrase. Everything was full of promise and hope.

Movement 2: Allegro. Honor of Moon and Sun

The next melody seemed similar to the first; a recapitulation of the townspony theme. It was faster too; it was like there was some sort of celebration going on, and the ponies were moving about and frolicking at a rapid pace. But no sooner had the theme taken form than Octavia brought in another – this one not nearly as pleasant.

It was jarring and discordant, a breakneck set of notes that raced through the concert hall. It disregarded all conventional rules of tonality and harmony, sounding almost chaotic as it darted up and down and overran the rest of the music. There was some pattern to it, though, something that stopped it from just being chaotic noise that not even Octavia could play in an acoustically pleasing manner – or rather, not so much a pattern as a target. It was overwhelming the townspony themes, systematically mimicking them, moving to those frequencies and notes, and supplanting them. The pony theme became more frantic in response, not a celebration anymore but some desperate race.

And then the alicorns arrived.

Celestia’s theme, powerful and strong. Luna’s, mysterious, yet inescapable. They boxed in the discordant mess, straightening out the conflicting melodic lines and restoring unity and harmony. In the space of a few moments, there was one again peace and harmony from the cello. And, slowly, the alicorn themes faded too, leaving once again only the happy townsponies.

But then the discordance began again, and this time, it wasn’t just one single theme. There were multiple threats, represented by multiple lines that eschewed harmony and tonality. One line oozed and squeezed its way along the cello, a creeping mess that swallowed up the higher notes. One jumped and darted about, breaking any other melody that it touched. One seemed to mimic the Ponyville theme until it broke away, and left silence in its wake.

It was difficult to explain how the music sounded good. Any of the lines on their own would have been better described as noise instead of music. But somehow, through Octavia’s superlative skill, there was a musicality even to the chromatic, clashing tones. They worked together in a dark and twisted way, not exactly allied, but perhaps pleased to split up the townsponies among themselves. Together, they had created a new melody, one violent and jagged, which drew the ear in but left the listener disturbed nonetheless.

The alicorns returned, but this fight was much harder than the last. Celestia’s theme battled the creeping oozing tones, but the mimic moved to fill in the gap. Luna moved to defend, leaving the lower notes where she had been residing, and another monster took the place she left. The alicorn and monster themes ran all over the cello, sometimes barely distinguishable from each other, sometimes widely apart, but all together a gorgeous cavalcade of sound – an epic battle, for solo cello. And, within it all, was still that one thin melody of the townsponies, now reduced to a ragged edge and a few notes at periodic intervals, but still very much present.

In the end, of course, the alicorns could not be overcome. Slowly, one by one, the monster themes sank away, retreating to whatever domain that spawned them. The alicorns remained, and the townsponies sounded in joyous shouts. They were saved again. Their princesses loved them, and would cherish and protect them for all time.

But the ending of the movement was sadder, almost tired. Celestia’s drooped, sagging down the cello, and Luna’s was a hair slow. They were alicorns, powerful, rulers of the country, but… well, they were exhausted.

(And Octavia had hesitated here during practicing, wondering if it would perhaps be more politically astute to make Luna’s theme unblemished. But she’d decided against that. She would play the piece honestly. She was done perverting her music and her ability for the will of the Court.)

The movement ended on a few sad, soft chords… still in a major key, still ultimately triumphant, but the happy atmosphere of the beginning was long gone.

Movement 3: Lento. Lament of Moon and Sun

For the first time in the piece, the middle theme of the townsponies was absent. This movement was a long, slow duet between the sisters Equestris.

The time was unclear; possibly it wasn’t even at the same time. Alicorns were nigh-omnipotent, and it wasn’t inconceivable that it could somehow be day for Luna and night for Celestia. But whichever the case, neither one seemed preoccupied with their Court or their other official duties. The pieces were reflective, deep affairs that required intense concentration.

Celestia’s theme continued, similar to how it had been played in the first and second movements, but it was even more worn now. Echoes of the defeated monsters sounded, little reminders of all the work that the Sun Princess had performed, and what work would remain for the next day, and the next, and the next. There was always some new threat, always some new horrible monster. And Celestia’s theme soared above those echoes, unleashing glorious sequences of heavenly notes, notes resounding the brilliance and beauty of the Sun… at least at first… but then it slowly lowered, incapable of continuing. Could even the Sun Herself fight endlessly, day after day, without letting the pressure get to her?

Her theme faded in prominence, and Luna’s took center stage. Like Celestia’s, Luna’s theme was more worn now. But there was something in it that hadn’t been in Celestia’s, something that strengthened it, prevented it from falling like Celestia’s had. The echoes of the monsters were still there, poking and prodding at Luna’s floating, dreamy theme, but they couldn’t make as much of an impact.

Because there was an echo of Celestia’s too.

Luna’s theme didn’t fight the echoes; one would only waste energy fighting a memory. It just disregarded them, played over them, regarded them as background clutter. And when it couldn’t quite manage this, echoes of Celestia’s song filled the gaps. Luna’s theme, after a bit of quavering, stayed steady and strong. Indefatigable, even.

The two melodies then took equal prominence in a very slow and rich duet. The two voices started out complimenting each other, building to a glorious pinnacle, but then they began to diverge, conflicting. Something wasn’t quite right, although it was very hard to say what. Was Celestia’s theme just a shade off? Luna’s tried to help her, sending a few notes to her so that they could take on some of the music’s burden, but Celestia disregarded them. She was the elder sister, the stronger one, and she couldn’t accept help like that. Her sister needed all her own strength; Celestia couldn’t weaken her. So the Celestia theme studiously ignored Luna’s, and, eventually – far more slowly than Luna’s, but eventually – it regained its power and accuracy.

The movement ended with a duet of harmony between the sisters. It lingered as it ended, with Octavia seemingly reluctant to move on. It was the last time, after all, and thus, like a final goodbye, it could be allowed to drag on a bit.

Movement 4: Vivace. Madness of Moon and Sun

The monsters were back, and stronger than ever. Hateful and depraved themes running all over the cello, leaving the good ponies of Equestria no room, no notes, not even a single frequency to sing.

The alicorns appeared, and at first, all was as it was before, but then their themes began to change. It was mild with Luna’s; perhaps a touch – but only a touch – harder and more determined. But her theme still misted into existence around the bad ones, still took them down and vanquished them, rendering the frequencies safe once again.

But Celestia’s transition was much more significant. It built in intensity, rising to a titanic level. Her theme growing louder and heavier as the stress continued to overwhelm her, Celestia was a mare on fire.

She pounded into the monsters, her melody booming from the cello and blasting over the concert hall. There was no mercy or compassion as she fought, and she didn’t let her enemies retreat either. Luna’s opponents crumbled and slunk away; Celestia’s burned up and vanished. In Luna’s domain, the townsponies sang in relieved happiness at being saved. In Celestia’s, there was relief in their tones, and happiness… but also hints of fear.

The frequency range began to narrow as Celestia cleansed each note and then moved on. Luna’s regions flourished, building once again once the monsters were gone, but Celestia’s seemed oddly muted. Her theme was still regal, noble even, yet it was clear that something was wrong. She was dangerous, somehow, in a way that not even the monsters were.

The two met in the middle, and there was a very soft, quiet section, where the two themes could only chirp at each other. Celestia, with whatever remained of her sanity, horrified by what had happened to her… and Luna, horrified as well. Slowly, Luna’s theme built a little. Notes were sent to Celestia’s region of the cello. She was offering help and aid.

And Corona rejected them.

Her theme flared up again, sweeping up and down the cello, a naked attempt to take the whole country, to grasp it and secure it, to make sure that no monsters could ever return. The townspony theme flared up and then died down to a whisper; even Luna’s theme was pushed back. For a few minutes, all that remained was Corona’s theme, now a burning and fiery rage, that of a queen gone mad and holding her whole country underhoof.

Luna’s theme rose up a couple of times, only to be smacked down. In the end, all that remained was Corona, and the movement ended on haunting, ominous tones. The end, it seemed to say, was nigh.

Movement 5. Presto. Battle of Moon and Sun

(And that was all that was known, the score had been lost and only the title remained; Octavia was moving blindly from this point on. But it didn’t matter. She understood things now; Lyra had taught her what she needed, and her ability would do the rest. Octavia could surmise where the others had gone wrong, and she could do more than simply avoiding their mistakes. She could play the piece correctly.

And so she began.)

The battle between Luna and Corona was as epic and titanic as it had to be. A breakneck magic slugmatch, with burning fire and freezing ice rippling along the cello, crashing into each other and destroying all in its path. Notes pounded into other notes as beautiful scales and chords marched off to war against each other. It was a brilliant, brutal work.

But that wasn’t all it was.

Because Luna’s themes weren’t simply that of a hero fighting a monster, or a trickster out maneuvering a giant. They were reluctant. Restrained, somehow. Luna wasn’t fighting at full power – not because she was stupid, nor as part of some plan, but because she couldn’t bring herself to. This was her sister, after all.

And there was more to Corona than chaotic madness. She wasn’t just another monster with more power and a halo of fire over her head. There were still the remnants of her previous themes in there; those of the pony who had only wanted to protect and shepherd her subjects. Her theme didn’t pound out the few free notes with cruelty, or smother them with cold abandon. When it silenced the townspony notes, it was accidental, a side effect of her battle against her sister. She didn’t’ even want to hurt them; she wanted to protect and guard them, though her theme laid waste to every note it touched. She was still evil, she still needed to be stopped, but she was not some mindless psychopath.

The battle continued as it had to. Luna was pushed back. She had always been the weaker sister, after all, and what’s more, she was handicapping herself. Besides, this was how the legends said the battle went – that Luna had been losing until she’d used the Elemental power. And that was what had to come next – Luna deciding to invoke the power of the Elements and banishing Corona to the heart of the sun, to remain imprisoned forevermore.

But why did she turn them around? Was it with strength and righteousness, a cold fury that brushed aside all qualms and set out to march forwards and bury her ersatz sister?

Was it with cold, calculated cunning, a trickster’s darting and weaving amongst the forest of notes, as if the whole fight beforehand had been some intricate plan?

Was it with sheer magical skill, a massive spell barrage that could nullify even Celestia’s mighty defenses?

No.

(That was what the others had done, Octavia thought; they had been playing for Luna, had wanted to impress Luna, and they either hadn’t understood their princess or they just hadn’t cared and had lied in their music. They had made Luna out to be a mastermind or a heroic soldier, who battled evil without qualm – a saintly figure who never once doubted herself. But none of that was true, it couldn’t be true when it was two close sisters fighting, and how foolish the other performers been, to think they could impress their ruler with a facile interpretation of her history or a flat-out lie.)

Luna’s theme faded; Corona’s ascended. The moon princess didn’t seem to have the power to take down her sister, and what’s more, she seemed reluctant to try. How could she, who still retained her sanity, fight her best and closest friend? Luna seemed paralyzed in indecision.

And then the townspony theme returned.

It wasn’t consonant anymore. It was panicked and racing, just like this whole section, but frazzled and at the edge of breaking entirely. It zipped around, dodging Luna and Corona – for how could it hope to stand in their way? – helpless. It cried to the heavens. ‘Save us,’ it seemed to whisper.

And Luna’s theme took note.

Whatever reluctance Luna was feeling, her melody began to grow stronger. It enveloped the pony theme, encompassing and defending it. She would hate to attack her sister, but she could not see her subjects burn.

And Corona’s next attack was just… blunted. It had no effect; Luna’s theme was unchanged and unmoved. The subsequent blows were similarly useless. Luna had finally been given reason to unleash her full power, and with her own talents and the magic of friendship – the friendship and love she felt for all the ponies in her domain – even Corona could not stand against her.

The ponies cried out again as Corona’s theme redoubled and charged. And, in a reluctant but decisive move, Luna’s theme advanced to meet her sister’s.

They crashed, squarely in the center of the cello.

And there was silence.

(Octavia paused for three measures, counting off the beats with a mental metronome more precise than any physical clock. Three measures exactly, no more, no less, and on to the finale).

(And the finale, of course, would have been played by the others in triumph; one wouldn’t want to offend Luna by implying that her victory was anything less than the most supreme good. Maybe a few would go the other direction and imply that the win was bad or that Luna regretted it. But Octavia knew better; she would play it honestly and truthfully, representing fairly a mare who had been forced to strike down her sister, but who would eventually understand that it was the right thing to do).

Luna’s theme returned, sad – no, distraught. Hopeless and helpless. It mourned, briefly trying to imitate her sister’s before giving up. The mare seemed almost broken.

But then the townspony theme began again. Softly at first, damaged and weakened, but then growing stronger. Soon it was shouting. Luna had saved them, and they were safe. Safe from the Tyrant Sun.

Luna’s theme remained sad.

The townspony theme swelled even more, a rush of joy – and love, love for their remaining princess, who had protected them from the nigh-omnipotent lunatic. They were still alive. Luna’s little ponies, whom she still loved and cared for very much, were still alive thanks to her actions.

And Luna’s theme became calmer. Still sad, still mourning, but now… resolved, in a sense. She had done the right thing. Her inner turmoil was at least somewhat soothed. She had done her duty and saved her subjects. She hadn’t enjoyed it – she’d hated every moment of it – but she’d still done the right thing.

The ending of the piece was not triumphant. It was not the shout of a victorious army returning from war, or the conquering hero standing atop the slain monster. But it was hopeful. It was the townsponies, and it was another day, and they were still alive. And, above them, they still had a princess, one who would shepherd them and protect them, even from her own family.

Octavia finished the piece and bowed.

Now I hear my fate. She took a deep breath. Though she shuns me, castigates me, throws me into space, I will not be ashamed. I played the piece correctly. Of this, I am certain.

When she looked up, she was slightly amused to see that every head in the house was looking at Luna, as if waiting for her to tell them their opinions. She looked up at the alicorn too, and then paused, taken aback.

Were those tears in the Princess’s eyes?

Luna paused for a moment, as if unable to speak, before managing to open her mouth. "Brava," she said. "Brava."

And then Princess Luna Equestris began to pound her hooves in a clap of applause, and the others joined in, and the deafening roar almost knocked Octavia Philharmonica off the stage.

Finale

Octavia somehow made her way to the backstage area before lowering her cello, then slumping in exhaustion.

She’d run through the whole city of Canterlot, and with no downtime whatsoever, played one of the most demanding cello compositions ever written. Before that, she’d been practicing for sixteen hours a day and sleeping roughly on a cold stone floor. Even excluding the emotional rollercoaster she’d been riding, she was about ready to curl up in a real bed for a few days.

“Octavia! Tavi!”

Octavia rolled over to see Lyra running towards her. “Lyra!” She – who usually took pride in her imperturbability -- found the strength to run forward and embrace her friend. “She loved it!” she cried. “Did you see? She was crying!”

“I saw!”

Octavia laughed, pulling Lyra close. “Luna was crying! I was able to produce music so beautiful that even an alicorn… she’s heard millions of songs, and…” She couldn’t continue. “It’s all I ever wanted,” she managed.

“It was amazing, Octavia,” said Lyra. “Fantastic.”

Octavia wavered a little on her hooves, her last burst of energy already fading. “I don’t even know what to do now. I hadn’t dared hope I would make it past this concert—“

Lyra began to guide Octavia back to her cello so they could pack it up. “I knew you’d pull it off.”

Octavia nodded. “You stayed by me. Lyra, if there is anything you ever need, if I can possibly provide it—“

“Don’t worry about it,” said Lyra.

The two of them got the cello and bow packed up. Lyra slung it onto her back. “Alright, let’s head out of here.”

Octavia nodded. “Where are we going?”

“To your home.” Lyra smiled. “You need to sleep. In a real bed, Tavi.”

Octavia didn’t bother correcting Lyra about her name. “Sleep? But I’m too happy to sleep!” She laughed, an unusually uncontrolled sound from her. “I feel like I could play for…”

“Tavi.” Lyra smiled. “Come on. Even forgetting that piece, and whatever adventure you had on the way here – which you’re telling me all about later, by the way – you’ve been practicing for sixteen hours a day for the past two weeks. You’ve been sleeping in a drafty tower. You need a real bed.” Her voice was gentle, yet firm. “I’m going to lead you home, and you’re going to get a good night’s sleep.” Her voice grew teasing. “You just impressed Luna Herself. Even you have to concede that you deserve a night off now.”

Octavia grinned. “I suppose so.”

The cellist let Lyra lead her outside. She is the best friend I could hope for.

“Seriously, though, you’ve got to teach me to play that,” said Lyra. “Did you see their faces? I think everypony there loved it!”

Greengrass sighed. “Well, Notary, looks like I lose this one.”

“I’m sorry, sir.”

The nobles were whispering among themselves, most in complete astonishment. They had been preparing for a spectacular failure all week, and seemed to be having trouble processing what had happened.

“Oh, don’t be. If you don’t want to see the occasional reversal of fortune, the Game isn’t for you.” He shook his head. “Still, I have to admit that it’s grating to lose to Lulamoon. Her ally will likely go to work directly for Luna now. And I’m sure that Lulamoon will leak that the last pony who betrayed me got a huge boost, so I’ll need to worry about all my other servants.” He clapped his hooves briskly. “Well, no use whining about it. Come on, Notary. Let’s see if we can salvage anything from this.”

“Did you at least enjoy the music?”

“Of course, didn’t you? Remarkable. To be able to perform a song like that is a very rare thing.” Greengrass strode out into the hallway. “Honestly, if she wasn’t a traitor, I might have considered hiring her for my private residence.”

“Wouldn’t that require telling her where it was?”

“Yes… yes, good point.” He smiled wistfully. “But it would almost be worth it.”

They had reached a quiet hallway, with no ponies around. Greengrass assumed a businesslike look. “Alright. Octavia is certain to gain from this. That’s over and done with, and I can’t stop that.” He began to pace. “Normally, one would expect that I would benefit from my agent impressing the princess, but because of how diligently I’ve denied being involved with the concert, that can’t happen. I will look incompetent and weak before the Court for wasting this opportunity. Preventing that has to be my immediate concern.”

Notary watched as Greengrass thought for several moments. Eventually, the duke said, “I need to obtain some kind of benefit from this concert, but the Courtiers will never believe I was really involved, not after we went to such trouble to hide how I set it up.” He brightened. “Wait. Why focus on the Courtiers alone? Notary – are any representatives of Lime Stone Incorporated in town?” Lime Stone Incorporated was the company that had tried to move into his fiefdom and drive out his local businesses, the one that Greengrass had more or less toppled after setting up Octavia’s concert.

“Three of their top managers have Canterlot offices.”

“Perfect. Find the weakest one and bribe him. He’s to find me and start screaming about how my agent, Octavia, ruined his business in my fiefdom, and he’ll have revenge and so forth. Make sure some servants are in the room when he does this. They’ll tell their friends. Eventually, they’ll all think that Octavia ruined him for me, and this concert was my gift to her. After that, any servant, clerk, or even guard with a dream will know that, if they work for me, I might be able to make it happen.” Greengrass nodded. “If any nobles fall for that story, great. If they don’t, they’ll think I’m lying, but they’ll see that I’m benefitting from that lie because I’ll be getting more agents and spies in the Court. I’ll still look strong, then. That’s a partial win.”

“Sir, Octavia’s been in Canterlot for the past two weeks. Ponies who know that will know she wasn’t in your fiefdom.”

“Yes. Holed up practicing, where nopony could see her, and in a perfectly soundproof room. She could have been anywhere.” Greengrass smiled. “In fact, I think it would be very foolish to announce that she could play that piece without learning it advance, don’t you? She probably learned it months ago. Then, after she agreed to do a job for me, I graciously set up the concert. I even kept my name out of it, so ponies wouldn’t be distracted by thoughts of politics.” He nodded. “That story will work for the servants and clerks.”

Notary hesitated. “This is going to cost a lot of money. Bribing the manager will be very expensive, and also any other pony who saw Octavia during the four days that you were out of town…”

“I know.” Greengrass shrugged. “Like I said, this plan failed. But I think I can still gain from this, even if it costs me some money. If ponies think that serving me will get them opportunities like the one Octavia had—“

“The one that was supposed to ruin her,” said Notary, dryly,

“Yes, but they don’t know that – then I might have more servants trying to help me. And not just the idiots who are dissatisfied with their masters, but creative and intelligent ones who just want a bit of help realizing their dreams.” Greengrass nodded. “I think it will be worth it in the end. Make it happen, and the sooner the better. We need to get this lie out there before the other nobles start spreading their own. Use any of my other allies that you need to, and as much money as you need.” He smiled. “Chin up, Notary. So we took a drubbing in the first round. The night’s not over yet. Let’s turn this around, and by morning, I want to be known as the pony to go to if you’ve got a crazy dream or wild ambition!”

“Yes, sir!”

The next morning

Fleur embraced Fancy Pants as soon as he returned home. “Good morning, dear.”

“Good morning.” He smiled broadly at seeing how happy his wife was. “Congratulations on last night’s events, by the way.”

Fleur laughed. “She did most of it herself. I couldn’t have played that piece.”

“Nonsense. You persuaded her to help Trixie. You helped her realize how she was hurting her friend Lyra. And, if my sources are correct, you robbed a bank for her.” He raised an eyebrow, though he clearly wasn’t actually angry.

“Hey, a mare’s gotta stay in practice,” said Fleur, grinning. “That cello was stolen anyway. I was just bringing it back.”

“Should I be concerned that you were still able to plan and execute a bank robbery in under an hour?”

“Of course not. I only use my talents for good now.” She smooched him. “Or did you mean, concerned that I’m slipping? I could have broken into that safe deposit box in half an hour a few years ago. Guess I’ll have to practice more.”

Fancy Pants laughed. “Just be careful, dear.”

“I always am. As Heavy’s minions found out.”

“Ah, yes. They did, didn’t they?” Heavy Hitter had managed to get away, but his three minions were currently in an interrogation cell. “I still think you should have called the guards.”

“Oh, like I’d need them just to fight one stallion. You taught me better than that. Besides, then whoever hired them could use their influence to get them right back out. The Shadowbolts are a little more… resistant to that sort of thing.” Fleur laughed, a bright and tinkling sound. “Any news on the political front?”

Fancy Pants poured two glasses of wine with his telekinesis. “Well, Octavia pulling that off was a big surprise to Greengrass. He’s trying to recover, though. Had some manager of a business he took over show up and start screaming at him, blaming Octavia for sabotaging them. He’s trying to get the castle servants to think that Octavia did that for him and he got her the concert as a reward.”

“Sounds desperate,” said Fleur.

“Yes, but it still might work. He’s liable to have some new minions soon. Any employee of the Court with a wild dream will want to see if he can make it happen.” Fancy Pants shook his head. “But still, not nearly as good for him as he expected, and Octavia will be likely now to tell Luna what she knows of his plans. That’s a blow to him.”

“Right.” Fleur trotted over to the sofa. “We’ll get him yet.”

“Yes. We won’t let him get away with all the harm he’s caused.”

Fleur nodded. “So, anyway, I’m friends with a Court Musician now. I wonder what else I can help her with?”

“Haven’t you helped her enough already?” But Fancy Pants was smiling.

“Out of Greengrass’s clutches, yes, but look at her. She needs to live a little! Spending all day cooped up with that cello, she’s missing out on so much the world has to offer.” Fleur brightened. “Do you think I could get her to go on some early-morning runs with me?”

“Aren’t those your runs over the city’s rooftops?”

Fleur nodded, smiling brightly.

“…might I suggest starting small, perhaps inviting her out to coffee first?”

“Oh, dear, where’s the fun in that?”

Greengrass smiled a little as he reentered the castle. He’d been stressed after that concert, but gardening always calmed him. It was just so incredibly reassuring to see the kind of beauty he could create, the kind of vision he could enact.

Nopony likes to lose, but you can’t play the Game if you can’t handle setbacks now and then. Lulamoon got me this time; a brilliant play on her part, I admit it. She’s a lot better than I gave her credit for. Greengrass shrugged. It was his own fault for underestimating her –

Wait. That was Blueblood. Good, he needed to take care of this.

Blueblood looked quite distressed. “Duke Greengrass! A moment!”

“Certainly, Prince.” Greengrass smiled and let Blueblood take him into a small side room. “Is something wrong?”

“Uh – uh, yes. Look, if it’s not too much trouble, if you could help me with an alibi. It’s a silly little thing, but—“

“But you don’t want to go to jail for hiring mercenaries to abduct Octavia, of course.” Greengrass smiled winningly. “Fear not, Viscount. I will protect you.”

“What?!” Blueblood looked stunned. “How did you know?!”

“A few sources in the guards,” lied the duke. It was a fairly safe bet that Octavia had had help escaping the thugs – she wouldn’t be able to get through those four on her own – and the most likely sources of help would be the guards or police. It was probable from there that at least one of the mercenaries had confessed that Blueblood had hired them so that they would appear cooperative. It was thus quite plausible that Greengrass had learned of Blueblood’s actions through a leak in one of those groups, as opposed to Greengrass’s true source, one of Blueblood’s servants. “Anyway, unless you paid them already—“

“Of course not!”

“Well, then it’s the word of a viscount – one from a noble family line too – against a few hired criminals. As long as you have a solid alibi, you’re safe, and I’d be happy to provide one. In exchange for just a few concessions, of course.” He smiled. “A few votes, perhaps some discrete funding of this or that. I’m sure we can come to an agreement.”

Blueblood looked visibly relieved. “Of course. Thank you—“

“Oh, one more thing. When our little coalition gets the Elements, we’ll need to pick a leader – somepony to actually give them their orders and such. You’ll support my taking on that role.”

Blueblood frowned. “But I already told Fisher I’d…” He trailed off as Greengrass shook his head.

“I’m afraid,” said the duke, “That this is non-negotiable, Blueblood.”

“…fine.” Blueblood frowned. “Just make sure that alibi holds.”

Greengrass left the antechamber, easily resuming his previous train of thought. Yes, he’d lost to Lulamoon this time, but that didn’t mean he’d make the same mistake twice. He’d crush her at the gala. And he’d have a splendid time doing it. He’d been somewhat tepid towards his gala plans, not because he’d thought they wouldn’t work, but because he’d thought it would be boring (and a bit silly) to go to such effort to crush a moron like Trixie Lulamoon. But if she was skilled, if she’d somehow inspired Octavia’s brilliant performance… well, then going up against her could be quite entertaining.

I’ll battle her and win. Ahh, won’t that be something? He grinned. She might have masterminded this one, but she won’t beat me twice.

He walked on, whistling merrily.

Trixie sighed in contentment. While she didn’t like waking up early, ‘dawn in the spa’ day was turning out to be a decent idea.

She sipped her carrot juice and waved a hoof at Carrot Top. “So how’s business?”

“Pretty good. The union’s getting in some new digging equipment. Ought to make getting boulders out of the ground a lot easier, so I might be able to expand a little bit.”

“Awesome.”

“How’s your work going? Any big political moves?”

Trixie chuckled. “Nope. None whatsoever. Nice to have a break, isn’t it?”

“Yeah. I’m tired of sending mobsters and con-ponies and politicians packing.” Carrot Top sighed as she slipped further into the whirlpool. “Wish they’d get the message.”

“Well, you won’t need to worry for long. The Great and Powerful Trixie is just biding her time until she can send a strong message that the Elements of Harmony are not another jewel for their crowns. They’ll all know not to mess with us.”

“And you’re sending this message… when?”

Trixie paused, not realizing that Carrot Top would take her literally. “Oh, a week or two. It’ll take time to, uh, draft.” She’ll forget by then. I hope.

Carrot Top smiled knowingly, but didn’t say anything.

Octavia yawned as she awoke. She was in her bed, tucked securely under the blankets, and resting on a big, fluffy down pillow. She smiled and rolled over a bit, allowing the warm sunlight to play over her face, and –

Sunlight?

Octavia’s eyes blinked open. It was past dawn, and she was still in bed – she’d overslept!

“Octavia!” called out a voice, just as Octavia began struggling out of the sheets.

Octavia looked over to see Lyra trotting in. “Lyra! What are you doing here?”

“Making sure you don’t do anything silly. You’re taking today off.”

“What? I never take days off—“

Lyra put out a hoof to push Octavia back down, and Octavia found, to her surprise, that she was having trouble resisting the unicorn’s force. “I guess today’s the first. Come on, Tavi. You taught me not to overexert myself. You were very clear on the importance of that, in fact. So today you will rest and recover.”

Octavia paused. “I… alright.” She’d learned a few lessons, she supposed, about listening to her friends. “I suppose I can give myself one day.”

“I should hope so.” Lyra grinned. “Now, I’m going to go get some things for breakfast. You’re still going to be in this bed when I come back, right?”

Octavia smiled. “You know I seriously I take my promises, Lyra. I’ll be here.”

Lyra grinned and trotted off.

Gathering food at the markets took about half an hour. Lyra smiled when she returned to Octavia’s home. Last night’s performance was still sounding in her head. She had never heard anything so glorious, and…

Were those voices coming from Octavia’s house?

Wondering what was going on, Lyra quickly hurried inside and went up the stairs. Yes, Octavia was definitely talking to somepony.

“…I could try to teach you how to play it, if you want,” Octavia was saying.

“I cannot.” It was a familiar voice, and very sad. “I am no longer strong enough. But… hearing it once, hearing it as I should have played it, was enough. Thank you, Octavia. You created something beautiful last night.”

Lyra poked her head in to see the aged, pink pony she’d met last night talking with Octavia. “Uh, hi.”

Octavia – still in bed – looked over. “Lyra, may I present to you Piano Amour. Piano, this is Lyra Heartstrings, Element of Loyalty and one of the finest up-and-coming musicians in the country.”

Lyra blinked. “Wait. You were the last pony to try the piece, weren’t you?”

Piano nodded. “I did it to save my family, and my family was saved, even though my performance was inadequate. Since then, the one thing I really wanted was…” and she hesitated. “I wanted to hear it played correctly. If only to know that it could be done.” She smiled. “I have never heard anything so wonderful.”

Octavia blushed.

Piano rose. “Thank you, Octavia.” She smiled before leaving.

“Wow.” Lyra blinked. “She was really good, wasn’t she?”

“I have some old recordings of hers.” Octavia nodded. “Sublime ability.”

Lyra sat on Octavia’s bed. “So! What exactly happened on your way to the theatre last night?”

Octavia shrugged. “I was waylaid by some hired mercenaries, I think. But I was able to escape – thanks to you, actually. I knew you would help me if you were there, and that was enough.”

“Waylaid?” Lyra blinked.

“It isn’t important. But I could hear you, as if you were standing by me. Though my mind was clouded, they couldn’t make me forget that you believed in me, and thus that I should believe in myself. I heard what you would have me do and the music you would play, and I just… followed your instructions. With that, and help from another friend, I was able to make it here.”

“But I wasn’t actually there.”

“It didn’t matter. I could hear you anyway.”

Lyra grinned. “…I dunno, Tavi, there’s good hearing, and then there’s hallucinations. I’m not sure it’s good to mix them.”

Octavia laughed, and then they were both laughing. The concert was over. Luna hadn’t shunned them. They were safe.

“But if you made a hallucination of me, then I’m totally making a hallucination of you.” Lyra smirked. “And she’ll be even cooler than the real Octavia.”

“I can already tell you what she’ll say.” Octavia leaned in close to Lyra’s ear. “Practice. Practice. Practice…”

“Hey, no fair, your hallucination gave you advice for escaping from thugs! Why’s mine so… ”

“Practical?”

Lyra giggled. “Sure, let’s go with that.”

Octavia sighed as she settled deeper into her bed. How long had it been since she’d had a day off? Years, probably. “Do you have any upcoming concerts?”

“Yeah, I’m auditioning for a Trottingham Orchestra solo in a few days.” Lyra blinked. It had utterly slipped her mind for days. “…and I should probably start practicing for that.”

“Lyra!” But Octavia’s tone wasn’t angry – rather gently chastening, the words of a mentor watching a student taking a goofy or silly action.

“Hey, I was busy!” said Lyra. “But don’t worry. I’ll ace it.” She paused. “…although, honestly, if you wanted to lend a hoof—“

“Of course. At this point, there’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you.”

“Well, in that case, if you want to help me get ready for my Trottingham audition, I’d be thrilled.”

Octavia beamed. “Of course, Lyra.”

The doorbell rang.

The two looked at each before Lyra rose. “I’ll get it. You stay here.”

Getting the mail took just a few minutes, even though it was a staggeringly large number of letters. Lyra smiled as she put them on Octavia’s bed. “Viceroy such and such wants to be your patron. Archduchess… vicereine… blah blah blah…”

Octavia smiled. “I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised.”

Lyra paused., then smiled slyly “Oh, hey, this one’s from Princess Luna’s office. Something about being a Court Musician—“

Octavia sprang up. “What? Let me see that!”

Lyra grinned and floated it over to her. Octavia grabbed it and quickly read it. “Court Musician… Lyra, do you realize what this means? I could play for Luna every night. I could play at all Her events. The greatest audiences in the world…”

Lyra smiled. “Congratulations, Octavia. You deserve it.”

Octavia shut her eyes for a long moment – but her smile, Lyra observed, could have lit up a moonless night. When she opened her eyes, they were full of joy and determination. “I owe you more, Lyra, than I can ever pay.”

“Don’t worry about it. Just promise me you won’t be so hard on yourself anymore. Honesty’s important, but it’s just as bad to be too critical as to be too soft on yourself.”

“I know that now.” Octavia nodded. “Don’t worry, Lyra. I’ll maintain better… perspective, I suppose.”

She folded up the letter and put it to one side. “Now, I believe you have an audition in a few days? Why don’t you let me hear what you have ready so far?”

Lyra grinned, and soon the house was full of soft, sweet lyre music.

Treason's Rewards

Moonlit Night allowed himself a single smirk as he eased his way into the Representative’s House. Everything was going according to plan. The schoolteacher was already eating out of his hoof; they’d just enjoyed a ‘romantic’ dinner together at Les Bits Argents, the fanciest restaurant in town, and she’d spent most of the evening staring into his eyes. That charm spell he’d laid on her was working perfectly; she trusted him with all her hopes, fears, dreams… everything. All he needed to do now was modify the town records, see that she wound up in a bit of trouble in her position as schoolteacher, and she’d come running to him for solace… at which point he could casually mention that he knew of a school in Duke Greengrass’s domain that could use such a fine and outstanding teacher as herself.

The office was quiet. Moonlit cast a low, yellow light from his horn, lighting up the room until he could see the Representative’s desk. The teacher had told him that the important town records were kept here, and that would include teacher disciplinary reports. He just needed to find the pile of forms that were due for filing – there they were – and put his doctored complaints report somewhere near the top. A confusion spell would ensure that the Representative would get a headache whenever she tried to stare at the form too closely; she’d end up just glancing over it before filing it, and in a few days Cherilee would be suspended. And that would be that.

Moonlit inserted the falsified report into the pile and smiled. “Once again, the greatest grifter in Canterlot has stolen another mare’s heart.” He straightened. “And now, he—“

The lights in the room turned on.

Moonlit immediately shut his eyes, stung by the sudden, harsh light. “What?” he began.

“Alright, Sapphire Beauty – if that’s even your real name!” It was a familiar – and very annoying -- voice. “Freeze!”

Moonlit opened his eyes to see Representative Lulamoon entering the room from the back entrance. Moonlit turned, only to watch as Raindrops strode in through the front door. He was trapped.

“Did you really think you could put one over on the Great and Powerful Trixie?” laughed the blue unicorn. “We knew who you were from the moment you entered town! Oh, by the way? Cherilee says that she’s not into you. Once we removed that charm spell, she thought you were actually kind of pretentious.”

Moonlit scowled. If his cover was blown, he would have to get out of town -- the magic he’d been using, particularly the charm spells, was not exactly legal – but he had to escape first. His horn glowed. “Out of my way!”

“I don’t think so.” Trixie stepped into the room and approached Moonlit. “You’re under arrest for attempting to interfere with official reports, illegal use of forbidden magic, and—“

Moonlit’s confusion spell slammed into Trixie before she knew what had hit her, and in a moment she was reeling, dizzy and somewhat nauseous. Moonlit took the opportunity to race around her. He booked it for door she’d been guarding – until it opened again, and an earth pony stepped out. The farmer Element, Carrot Top.

Dang it. Two confusion spells of that magnitude in a row would tax even Moonlit. He changed his course, using his telekinesis to pick up a paperweight from the bookshelf and hurl it at the window.

“No!” he heard Trixie cry, but then the glass was shattering. He jumped out the window, dodged a blast of magic from the green unicorn outside, and vanished into the night.

“Drinks are on me,” said Cherilee, putting a small stack of bits in the center of the table. “Thanks for saving me. I would have done something crazy if you hadn’t removed that charm spell.”

“No problem!” said Ditzy. “I’m just glad he’s gone.”

“You’re sure you’re okay?” asked Carrot Top.

“I’m fine now.” Cherilee giggled. “Really, once Trixie cast the counterspell, it was like I could think clearly again. I didn’t have thoughts of that blowhard running through my head all day and night.”

Trixie smiled. She’d heard some… interesting reports of Cherilee’s behavior in class the other day. ‘As distracted as one of her foals’ was a polite way of putting it. “Well, Greengrass fails again, and now we know another one of his agents. I’d say that’s worth a celebration.” She raised her voice. “Berry! Gimme my usual!”

“Right away, Miss Lulamoon!”

Lyra laughed. “Looks like the Elements can chalk up another victory over the Court.”

“Hey, some of us here are both,” said Trixie.

“You know what I mean. The corrupt parts of the Court, then.” Lyra grinned. (Meanwhile, the drinks were arriving, and Trixie grabbed the bottle of bourbon). “The Duke and his cronies might have lots of power and money, but they can’t overcome the magic of our friendship, the bonds of our loyalty, and the—“

Whatever else they couldn’t overcome would never be known, because Trixie had just gulped down her first glass of bourbon. “To us!” she yelled, apropos of nothing.

Lyra chuckled. “Alright, that works too. To us!”

They all laughed happily as they toasted.

“What do you think Greengrass will do now?” asked Cherilee.

Trixie shrugged. “Who cares? It’ll take him a while to set up another attempt. I say, let’s enjoy the downtime while we can.”

Three days later.

“It’s Philharmonica, sir. She’s our leak.”

Greengrass looked up from his evening hot chocolate at his secretary. “Ah. I suspected as much.”

“Sir?”

“She’s the only one who knows my plans and has a personal friendship with any of the Elements. Lulamoon’s not competent enough at Court to merit any smart political allies, and I would hope I could find any idiot Courtiers foolish enough to try dealing with her. If her source isn’t political, it must be social.” Greengrass chuckled as he carefully spread jam on his toast. “What proof did you find?”

“Lockpick broke into her house while she was at Vicereine Puissance’s dance. She found a half-written copy of her next letter to Lulamoon. It referenced Moonlit, and also contained a short list – mostly accurate – of some of your political allies.”

“Mmm.” Greengrass sighed. “Well, I was hoping to get more use out of her, but I can’t let a traitor remain in my service. Sets a terrible precedent. So, what shall I do with her… the Mild West settlements are putting out a call for entertainers, as I recall. Apparently, it’s a bit dull out there.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Kindly inform her that she will be moving there within the week, or we will…” Greengrass thought. “Well, we’ll frame her for something. Something assault-y, attacking a rival, that kind of thing. She cares about her reputation, so she won’t want to wind up in the papers.” He paused, then shook his head. “Actually, cancel that. I’d like to send Lulamoon a message too. You know ‘this is what happens to ponies you try to use against me.’ She’s selfish, but it still might give her pause -- and it'll definitely scare any other allies she's scrounged up. Perhaps there’s something more we can do to Octavia.” He thought. “What’s Philharmonica doing in the next few days?”

“In the next two weeks, she has three relatively small recitals and shows, in addition to a lecture at the Canterlot School for Musical Arts. Ten days from now is her next big concert – the Treaty Celebration at the castle.” Notary looked annoyed. “In honor of the renewed treaty with our southern neighbors the—“

“Oh, right. There will be a huge gala, everypony will be there, good food, good music, yadda yadda.” Greengrass snorted. “Do the ambassadors even like cello music?”

“I don’t think they will be in attendance, sir. It’s just for the Court.”

“Which of course had nothing to do with anything; Luna was the one who fixed up the treaty, but then again, if the Court stopped taking rewards for things they didn’t do, half of them would starve to death.” Greengrass smiled slightly. “But you worked hard to get her that booking, didn’t you?”

“Quite hard, sir. Princess Luna herself will be there, and every noble of rank Archduke or higher. Octavia will be the youngest mare by three years to perform for the Princess. I do wish she’d had the decency to betray us before I went to all that trouble.”

“Notary, it’s a sad fact of life that sometimes our best efforts are unappreciated.”

Notary grinned.

“…you are now going to use that opening to tell me of the things you’ve done that you feel I have not sufficiently appreciated, aren’t you?”

“Yes, sir.”

Greengrass laughed, but then paused. “Wait. The Princess will be there.” He rose. “Yes! This is perfect!”

“Sir?”

“Octavia didn’t just steal my money or try to bribe one of my employees. She gave up my political secrets. That should exact a more severe punishment than a few years of exile. Also, there’s the issue of making it very clear to Lulamoon that, if she uses tools against me, I’ll smash them from her hoof. So, if our cellist offends the Princess…” He clapped his front hooves. “Notary! Do we have any plans for the night?”

“At eleven, you are scheduled to heroically stride into the Education Department budget meeting and offer funds from your own fiefdom to plug their budget gap, in return for a series of trifling concessions which you will then use as part of a scheme to—“

“Okay, yes, besides that?”

“No sir.”

“Then we have time.” Greengrass began to trot towards the door. “Let’s go promote a concert, Notary!”

Notary followed. “I can book a few reporters—“

“That can come later. First, we need newspaper ads. Magazine circulars. Personal invitations to everypony who’s anypony.” Greengrass grinned. “It simply must have a huge crowd. After all, it will be Octavia Philharmonica’s greatest – and final – performance!”

My little pony, My little pony
Ahh ahh ahh ahhh...
My little pony
Friendship never meant that much to me
My little pony
But you're all here and now I can see
Stormy weather; Lots to share
A musical bond; With love and care
Teaching laughter; It's an easy feat,
And magic makes it all complete!
You have my little ponies
How'd I ever make so many true friends?

“Hi Ditzy!”

Ditzy Doo smiled at Lyra as she trotted over to her house. “Good morning, Lyra. Expecting an important letter?”

Lyra grinned. “Yeah, I guess I don’t usually wait for the mail, do I? But I submitted an application to the Trottingham Philharmonic – they need a guest lyre player for a concert in a few weeks. Today’s the day I’m supposed to hear back.” She grinned. “I’m so excited!”

Ditzy checked her mailbags. “Well, let’s see… ah. You have mail!” She carefully took out a stack of letters and passed them to Lyra. “And I think I see one postmarked from Trottingham – oh, it’s thick, and—“

Lyra grabbed it with her telekinesis and ripped the envelope open. “Dear Miss Heartstrings… blah blah blah… oh!” Her eyes widened. “Invited to audition! I got the audition! I made the short list!”

“Congratulations!”

Lyra laughed. “I got it! The Trottingham Philharmonic! Woohoo!”

Bonbon poked her head out of the house. “What’s going on?”

“I made the shortlist for Trottingham!” Lyra grinned. “Two weeks from now, I’ll be auditioning!”

“Wow! Nice going!”

Ditzy passed Lyra the rest of her mail. “Have a good day, Lyra!”

“I already am!” she said, almost bouncing back inside.

Bonbon was just setting out the plates for a lazy Saturday brunch. Lyra began to help, using her telekinesis to grab the glasses and the orange juice. “I’ll need to see Rarity later, figure out what to wear, and… oh, this is so exciting!”

“And this time, no politics, right?” asked Bonbon.

“Nope. Trottingharm Philharmonic doesn’t have any Court representation. This one’s strictly music.”

Bonbon nodded. “Hey, can I see the rest of that mail? I’m expecting a letter from my cousin in Baltimare.”

Lyra passed the letters to him. “You’ll be there, right? Watching my Trottingham debut?”

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world.” Bonbon cycled through the letters. “Bill, junk, junk, notice from the mayor regarding the streetlights, concert…” She trailed off. “You didn’t tell me you were going to a concert.”

“I wasn’t.” Lyra chuckled. “But I guess somepony thinks I should. What’s the piece?”

Bonbon opened the letter and scanned it. “The, uh, Symphony for Moon and Sun.”

“What?” Lyra laughed. “That has to be a joke. Nopony plays that piece.”

“Why?”

“Because the Princess hates it,” said Lyra. “It’s practically a legend. Anypony who plays it never performs again – Luna shuns them, and then they’re poison. No venue will host them. That letter can’t be real.”

Bonbon was still reading the invitation. “The piece must be terrible, then.”

“Oh, no. It’s gorgeous – some of the score survived; I read it in the Canterlot library once. I mean, it looks crazy hard to play, but if you can do it, it would sound fantastic.”

“… then I don’t understand.”

Lyra grinned, and her horn glowed as she cast the spell to summon her lyre. “Want to hear the whole story?”

“Uh. Will the pancakes get cold?”

“Oh, hush. It’ll only take a minute.” Lyra smiled and began to strum her harp. “Nine hundred years ago, ponies wanted to celebrate the century anniversary of the defeat of the Tyrant Sun. Luna was being reclusive, and the ponies wanted to please her by showing her how grateful they were at her victory. So they threw a huge party – great food, drink, even early stage magicians. Everything was done as a big ‘thank you’ to the princess for saving the country.

“Now, Luna loves music, and she loved it back then too. The crowning jewel of the event was supposed to be the Symphony. The greatest cellist of the time, Concerti Brilliante, had found most of the score in the old castle archives. He mastered it, and then played it at the party. But instead of praise, she castigated him. She said that he got it all wrong and he wasn’t fit to play a note. Then she left without finishing the party.

“A few days later, another cellist offered to try – Fame Fortisi. But her performance was even worse. And neither of them could get work as musicians afterwards either. Luna shunned them, and nopony would hear them afterwards.

“For a while, a new hotshot cellist would try to play it every few months. And then it became every few years, and then, in the end, once every ten to thirty years. Nopony ever succeeded. And, within the last one hundred years, it’s almost stopped completely. I don’t think anypony’s tried it since… since Amour Piano seventy years ago.”

“And Luna won’t say why she hates it?”

“If she has, no one remembers what she said.” Lyra shook her head. “The prior performances weren’t recorded, or even reviewed, because of Luna’s displeasure. Nopony knows exactly how they sounded.”

“You said that Concerti whats-his-name found the score, right? So a different composer wrote it before Concerti’s performance? Did Luna like his rendition?”

“Hers. Maestro; she was famous, but there’s no record of her ever playing the piece, or of Luna’s thoughts.” Lyra shrugged. “Thing is, Concerti didn’t find the full score. The last movement was missing. A lot of ponies think that Luna might not like the other renditions because none of the endings ponies have made up over the years can compare to the original. Then again, some think she always hated it, and that she had the ending destroyed because it was so offensive. It’s a mystery.”

“Oh.” Bonbon carefully balanced the big plate of pancakes and got it to the table. “So the piece is beautiful, and the score’s available—“

“Most of it, the ending’s lost—“

“Most of it’s available. But it can’t be played because Luna hates it for some inexplicable reason that she hasn’t bothered to tell anypony. Is that about right?”

“Yes.”

Bonbon smiled a little. “…Don’t you find that just a bit silly?”

Lyra giggled. “I suppose. But aren’t there silly quirks like that in your line of work?”

“No, actually, there is no candy recipe that produces delicious toffee but is forbidden by royal decree. We’d know if there was, because Pinkie would be banished in about twelve minutes.”

Lyra laughed as she used her telekinesis to pick up her fork and cut a big slice of pancake. “Fair point. But anyway, that letter has to be a joke. The audience shows up and it’s a big prank or something. Who’s playing?”

“…uh.” Bonbon frowned. “It’s Octavia, Lyra. Your mentor.”

Lyra’s fork clattered to the floor.

“What?!