Turning Winds

by Martian

Rating: everyone
Tags: Silver Spoon, Slice of Life, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic
Length: 3716

Everyone changes, sometimes for the better.

Everyone changes, sometimes for the better.

{{ An unofficial prologue to Your Antagonist's spectacular 'The Serenade of Silver Belles' }}

Published 2012-12-22 14:10:01 UTC
Last updated 2012-12-22 14:10:01 UTC

Prelude to the Serenade

The sharp point of the burin dug into the soft silver, cutting a tiny furrow in the metal. The tool was manipulated deftly, carefully; the tiniest movement was planned for and studied well beforehand, judged and weighed and measured before being enacted. A slight turn, just so. More pressure, just enough…

A sliver of gleaming metal coiled over itself as the cut lengthened into a curve that connected with a larger cut. It was the last incision that would shape the last leaf on the stem of a flower no larger than a grain of rice. The tip of the burin drew back, then Silver Spoon pushed aside the magnifying glass to examine her work at its true size. She huffed a gentle breath against the softly glowing silver, causing the freshly cut curl to lift and fall away glittering to the green-dyed canvas mat that rested atop her workbench. There, it became a new swirl of a galaxy amongst dozens of others, making for an alien echo of the night sky, though one destined to destruction for the waste would re-enter her father's crucible to be forged anew.

The silver-maned filly regarded her work in the warm sunlight that streamed through the window before her. She turned it this way and that, leaning close to peer suspiciously at the new cut through her blue-rimmed spectacles, then drew the magnifying glass back into place, its mechanical arm gliding smooth and soundless to her whim. It was always this one particular burin; it cut beautifully with the slightest pressure, but there was some trick to it that she still hadn't mastered, for it always left one slightly raised edge. Likely no one would notice, but Silver Spoon was nothing if not a perfectionist, and the very idea that this tiny bit of metal would willfully ignore her desires was irksome.

She glanced to the array of trays at her right elbow, thinking for a moment before drawing one open and setting the burin back into its designated place amongst its kin. They were simple tools, looking not unlike small screwdrivers with rounded handles for pushing rather than gripping, their shafts sharpened to fine points with each of a slightly different shape than the last. She shut that tray and drew open another, revealing a selection of files and rasps that numbered an exact 100. Each was different from the one before in some fashion or another, the smallest little larger than a toothpick, the largest just longer than a toothbrush. There were flats and rounds, semi-rounds and bastards, barrettes and pippins and parallels; each type and size of file had doubles and triples, their cutting surfaces graded from coarse to fine. Silver Spoon eyed the mind-boggling selection calmly, then took up a simple flat with fine teeth, gripping it daintily by the handle in her mouth.

She considered the silver bracelet now, studying the way it curved just so, how the face of it had a rounded quality rather than flat, how the edges flared outwards. It had started off as any other piece of gaudy jewelry; its face had been bare of any designs, simply polished to a mirror-shine and left out to attract the kind of simple-minded ponies who thought that wearing something shiny somehow increased their own personal status and worth. Silver Spoon had procured it from her mother's workbench with permission, then took it up to her room and her own filly-sized workbench and there gave it a generous scrubbing with steel wool until it had a soft and supple glow rather than an opulent shine.

From there, it had been a matter of thinking. She had gotten her cutie mark while trying her hoof at engraving some decorative spoons her parents had no need for, and while she did indeed love the challenge of such limited surface, there was just as much challenge in such a wide canvas. There was so much space to use, so much detail that could be worked into the metal, so much work to be done. It had been worth it, though. On and off for nearly a month now, Silver Spoon had been working on this one bracelet in between practice on more common works and scrap, and she was very nearly finished.

The bracelet had been transformed from a boring, flashy piece of metal to a piece of the engraver's art. Swirls and whorls of filigree danced across much of it, forming patterns that moved in and around one another to trick the eye into seeing all kinds of shapes that were not truly there. One angle might have one see butterflies, at another it would be curling ferns, and at another still perhaps the wings of a pegasus in full flight. All of this surrounded the central face; a pointed ellipse that she had carefully and cunningly cut to give it the look of standing proud of the rest of the bracelet. Its edges had been filed with exquisite care into the shape of braided silver wire framing a riot of flowers and immortal vines all in bloom, all picked out in glowing metal never to wilt or wither.

Silver Spoon eyed the last flower she had cut, then with the care of one who has every reason to be cautious, she touched the file to the metal and drew it back ever so carefully, feeling the tiny teeth on the steel biting into the silver beneath. It needed not even half a pass to take off that slight edge she had noticed, and when she set the file down and examined the piece again, the filly allowed herself a small, self-satisfied smile. Oh, it had left a scuff in the metal, but she was going to give the central piece a good polish to bring out all those tiny silver blooms. First though, she had to finish the last design.

At the very centre of the bracelet's swirling filigree and immortal garden was a circle of bare metal still untouched by file or awl or burin. It had been a challenge to decide just what was to be within. At first, Silver Spoon had thought to cut it into the shape of a Fleur-de-Lis, the Prancian sigil that she rather liked, but had decided later to cut the familiar symbol of a tiara into it and make a gift of the bracelet to her friend. Silver Spoon had even gone so far as to find five tiny diamonds to set into the design, even though she herself found gemstones to be somehow tacky and distracting from the beauty of the metal. Diamond Tiara wouldn't be impressed without them though, so there they were, set on a square of black velvet atop the little circle of steel she used as a base for shaping spoons.

With any luck, she could get them set tonight and have something to give to her best friend in the morning.

It wasn't like Silver Spoon had any other friends to give it to.

That thought, from nowhere… it was one that had been popping up more and more as late, and it was an uncomfortable one. She swiftly pushed it aside and pulled open another tray, searching through the myriad lengths of pointed metal to seemingly pick a burin at random, its shape no different to that of the one already atop her desk, at least to an eye that wasn't quite so familiar with the tools.

Truth be told, Silver Spoon herself wasn't completely familiar with all of her tools. Perhaps less than a quarter had ever been used so far, but her parents had enough money to invest in a complete set that matched their own collections, shrunk down to fit a filly's needs. Her parents, so pleased of their daughter's inheritance of the family skill, wonderfully generous. They had gotten her the workbench as well, though their original idea had been something awful in pink and set with gems, something that would have had Silver Spoon dancing for joy several year ago, though such tackiness held litle attraction now. She had thankfully managed to convince them that she wanted a desk made for work, a match of their own. Surprised and proud both, they had conceded to her request. They had meant well, certainly, but Silver Spoon had no desire for something that would have looked like some cheap plastic filly's playset.

Her desk was elegant in its simplicity: all dark-lacquered oak polished to a shine, bringing the pattern of its grain into sharp relief. There were no gemstones, was no silver chasing, no gold scrollwork or other gaudy uselessness: it was a workbench, the first tool to be used in the creation of truly beautiful things. It stood out in stark contrast to the rest of Silver Spoon's room, decorated as it had been to the whims of a silly and shallow filly who had thought pink and rose was the last word in colour. She had been meaning to ask her parents to get rid of the masses of shelved toys no longer used, to do away with the crystal-studded dresser. Even her four-poster bed with its fluted pillars and silken curtains, a fortress for a foal's imagination, held no magic for her anymore.

Silver Spoon peered at the bracelet through the magnifying glass for a long while, turning it this way and that, doing the mental gymnastics and craftpony's geometry to count out just what she had to do, where, and how. This wasn't so difficult at least; she arranged herself and set the flat, chisel-tip burin to the metal, then carefully applied pressure. There was no hammer here; none of her tools needed more than just a bit of manual pressure to cut silver, for they were made of the same perfectly tempered steel as her parent's collections. She held the burin between her teeth, turned the bracelet just so, and the incredibly sharp bit of the tool did its work, shaving off flakes and dust. It was only the work of a few moments to smooth the circle of bare metal, cutting away the slight bumps and uneven edges to make as neat a circle as she could manage.

It wasn't perfect; it was very difficult to do a perfect circle, but Silver Spoon was confident that no one would be able to tell without a magnifying glass, and anyway, Diamond Tiara wasn't likely to give it more than a cursory glance…

She drew back the tool and let it clatter onto the benchtop, the sound muffled by the deep green canvas speckled with silver stars. She blew a fresh dusting of celestial bodies to that alien sky before pulling off her glasses and wiping the back of a hoof across one eye, drawing away a warm wetness it had found there.

Silver Spoon ignored the feeling, setting her glasses back upon her nose and took up a new burin, this one with a triangular point: good for deep, even cuts and turns. She took in a deep breath, held it, then blew it out slowly, forcing her mind to relax again. She let the sun's light streaming through the window warm her face for a long moment, made her heart settle down to its normal calm rhythm, pushed down all those thoughts. She brought up the mental image of Diamond Tiara's face, somehow smug and condescending even here in the privacy of her own mind. Silver Spoon considered her flank, the wire-like curves and points of the tiara cutie mark, all arrayed just so. She opened her eyes and looked to that spot of blank silver…

Blank.

The word hung in her mind, heavy as lead, accusing, hateful.

Blank flank.

Diamond Tiara had started using that right after she had gotten her cutie mark, had even thrown it at Silver Spoon a few times before the filly had found her own talent with engraving. From there, it was just a matter of course to join in with the taunting to avoid the sneers and hateful words being directed at herself. It had been fun too, having that kind of strange power over others with nothing more than a word, and having a friend to share that exciting little thrill with.

Friend.

A friend was a pony who was supposed to help and support you, no matter what. A friend would be there for you, would hold you up when you were falling, would hold you back when you were reckless and push you forward when your nerves overcame your bravery…

They don't shatter your world for their own amusement.

She should have known it then… no, she had known it then, but for one stupid moment she had really thought Diamond Tiara had their friendship in mind when she agreed to help Silver Spoon with Hearts and Hooves day.

It had taken her weeks to built up the courage, had taken a dozen nights of frantic scribbling and filled waste paper baskets, had taken hours worth of nervous tears and fretting nerves and aimless worries all formed by the wild imaginings of a pony hopelessly struck with secret love. She had gotten the note written though, had managed to pen it in neat writing, with all the words she wanted within, all save her name. It was an admiration from afar, a crush on a pony kind and sweet enough to smile at and play with Silver Spoon, even with a reputation tarnished as it was by Diamond Tiara.

She had just wanted another friend… something more than a friend even, in a way that she didn't really understand, but just knew it to feel right.

Silver Spoon had managed to deliver the note without being seen, had seen Dinky Doo reading it later, had seen the sudden flush of colour creeping across her cheeks and the shy, curious smiles the unicorn filly had cast about the playground. Silver Spoon should have had the courage to walk up to Dinky and tell her she had written the note, then and there. She should have just gone it her own and broken the chains that kept her ever tied to Diamond Tiara, but after so long living in the shadow of that personality, it was hard to find your own will. She had waited until after class, had waited with her friend in the special place she had hoped would be private enough to bear her heart out to the filly she so needed to love.

It said so much of Dinky Doo that she did not even bat an eyelash when she crept around the corner into the noted meeting place, her shy smile not faltering for a beat when she beheld Silver Spoon and Diamond Tiara there instead of a colt, what would have been the norm… Others might have quailed and ran at the sight of the two, for their reputation was a black one, and other fillies might have taken to their hooves as well for other reasons, but Dinky only approached and mumbled a little word of greeting, pretty eyes turning back and forth between the two.

Silver Spoon hadn't told Diamond Tiara that her secret crush was another filly… she honestly had not even given thought to the idea that her best and only friend would ever say what she did. It wasn't the word itself; that meant little of anything, but the way she had said it had cut to the very bone; all scorn and disgust.

Filly-foolers.

Silver Spoon felt her jaw clench tight as Diamond Tiara's voice echoed in her head, felt her heart jump and pound…

Felt the burin slip.

She hadn't even known she was cutting.

Panic flooded her mind, dragging her back to the present all in a rush. She dropped the tool with a wordless cry, tears welling up in her eyes as she scrabbled to check the bracelet she had spent so many days and nights working on.

"No no, no no no…" she sobbed, staring at the face of her most beautiful effort. A deep gouge was incised across the face of the blank circle; a mark ugly and crooked and beyond repair. She couldn't solder metal into it, for it would discolour all the metal around it. She couldn't keep cutting the tiara, couldn't do anything with it. Tears trickled down her cheeks. She closed her eyes and let the bracelet fall from her hooves. She heard the faint ringing of it on the canvas-covered benchtop, a sound sweet and sad, distant as a chiming bell. She saw the face of Dinky Doo, her sweet and trusting face, all wide eyes and easy smiles… she saw her face fall, saw tears spring forth, saw her body practically curl into itself as Diamond Tiara tore at her with words like knives… and all Silver Spoon could do was stand there, shocked to the depths of her soul as Dinky ran off sobbing.

She had tried to apologize to the filly several times, but even the sight of Silver Spoon approaching made Dinky start to tremble, and worse was how Diamond Tiara delighted in tormenting her for days after. It had gotten so bad by the end that Dinky had stayed home for an entire week just to avoid the relentless teasing and horrible words Diamond Tiara would throw at her. It ended with Dinky Doo being moved to another school...

Friend.

That wasn't a friend. Even well before that Silver Spoon had found herself losing interest in tormenting others, but that episode, that broken heart had shattered the blinders she had made herself wear, had gotten a glimpse of just what Diamond Tiara was.

Silver Spoon was crying now, her face pressed between her crossed hooves atop her desk, shoulders shaking as the grief and guilt escaped the prison she had tried to keep shut in her heart. She wanted to apologize to Dinky, wanted to beg forgiveness from her, beg forgiveness from everyone. She wanted to try and make things right, but knew there was little and nothing she could ever say or do that would ever win their trust.

She had known that for months now, long after that horrible day. Silver Spoon had thought her heart had mended by then, but it was only scarred: gouged deep like the face of the beautiful bracelet she had hoped to give to her friend.

Friend.

In a sudden rush, Silver Spoon wrenched herself up from her stool, sending it clattering to the floor behind her. She shoved aside the magnifying glass, her breaths coming in ragged sobs, tears streaming down her cheeks, leaving shimmering silvery trails. She grabbed up the little jeweller's anvil that sat on its stand at the back of the workbench. It only weighed two kilograms, but it was as good as any sledgehammer for what she wanted it for.

She wanted to smash that bracelet, wanted to crush it into nothing, along with everything she had ever done, with everything she had let Diamond Tiara do. She stared at the softly glittering ring of metal upon the alien sky of green canvas and silver stars, felt tears soft and hot and genuine curling down her cheeks to patter on the floor; a point of real sound in the dreadful silence heavy with her guilt and hate, full of the scolding, mocking tones of Diamond Tiara.

She swung the anvil down with the weight of all her fury, all her self-loathing.

Silver Spoon wasn't strong, nor was an anvil meant to be used as a hammer, but the gems she had found were tiny and few realize that for all their hardness, diamonds are very brittle indeed.

They were smashed into so much dust.

She stood like that for a long while, braced with her hooves on the desk, head bowed, shoulders shaking with every barely-contained sob. In time, she righted her stool again, wiped the back of a hoof across her cheeks, brought the magnifying glass around and drew out more tools. The sound the bracelet had made when she dropped it resonated with something deep inside her, something that had been laying quiet in the shadows in the very corner of her heart. That sound, so soft and sweet…

She bent to work again, seeing a shape in the damage, something she could work with.

Silver Spoon wasn't going to let Diamond Tiara ruin anything beautiful ever again.

The sunlight gradually faded beyond her window, but a flick of a hoof lit the twin lamps on either side of the desk. Her mother had come and called her down to supper, but had left Silver Spoon be when she saw her daughter working busily. The family were all crafters, and they knew the creative moods one could be driven to and how it was best not to interrupt.

Perhaps if Silver Spoon's desk had been facing the door rather than the window, her mother might have seen the redness in her eyes and the tears not yet dry upon her cheeks.

Her sleep had been fitful that night, but even exhausted and weary she wanted to go to school. Something hot and sharp was set in her heart, something that was going to be said today, something that had been needing to be said for a very long time.

Upon her workbench, surrounded by a night's work of glittering silver dust upon green canvas, rested the bracelet, complete. It was brushed silver, incised with delicate and wondrous filigree from edge to edge, its central face cut cunningly to appear proud of the rest, a pointed ellipse with a border of braided silver surrounding a riot of flowering vines that would never wilt or wither.

At the very heart of this masterwork of silver, a pair of tiny silver bells, one before the other, caught in mid-chime and polished to a mirror's shine.

Author's Note

I must re-iterate that this story/prologue is unofficial; it is a fan-work very much inspired by Your Antagonist's peerless 'The Serenade of Silver Belles', and I cannot stress it enough for you to go and read that fic.

Partially inspired by and entirely written to: