A Path to Virtue

by stanku

Rating: everyone
Tags: Adventure, Main 6, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Dark
Length: 5366

Someone is stalking the Mane 6 and Twilight is burdened by something.

A beginning of a longer story, although the true length here is unknown even for me at the time. So is the plot to be.

Published 2013-03-08 10:20:01 UTC
Last updated 2013-03-08 10:20:01 UTC

First Steps Are the Hardest

I - The First Steps Are the Hardest

If there ever was a power greater than that of flight – Rainbow Dash was sure that there wasn't – it would have been something quite strange to her. If something were to exceed the feeling she felt when she was flying, it would have to be something truly otherworldly, perhaps even possessing divine qualities. It would take no less for her to ever give up flying. Sometimes she wondered, if such a power truly did exist, although those thoughts needed no more than another strong beat of her wings to dissolve and disappear from her mind. Yes, a strong wind, a clear sky, unimaginable heights – that was all it took for Rainbow Dash to lose herself in the bliss she found among the clouds, in the deep blue and white ocean above. No more she needed, no more she wanted, ever.

She finally stopped her ascent and turned to glimpse the earth below her, her wings beating steadily to keep her in place. She was 300, maybe 350, feet above the rooftops of Ponyville, the ponies and even the buildings seeming quite small from up here. It always occurred to her, during these moments of silent elevation, how very much earth and sky differed from each other, a thing earth ponies hardly realized, thinking that world was really just one.

It wasn't. Not up here.

In the air everything was different. She could breathe better, the dust and dirt left down below. She could see better with no buildings or trees or anything blocking her view: She could see as far as her eyes allowed her to. Her movements were unrestricted, her sense of smell liberated from anything she did not wish to smell and her ears free to listen only to the music made by the wind, her only companion in the world up here. Truly, how could these two worlds be connected? Sometimes she pitied her friends, who could not enjoy the same privileges she could, although the feeling extended from time to time to even those who actually could fly. Fluttershy, that timid thing, was even afraid of her own shadow and would race and compete with Rainbow Dash only after careful persuasion. Even then Dash had to slow down for it to feel like a race. That made her doubt if Fluttershy even wanted the wings on her back.

As the warm midday sun caressed her back and wings, Dash suddenly remembered why she had come up here (not that she really needed a reason anyway). It was that one of the fillies had lost a balloon up here somewhere, and Dash had been around to hear the desperate wail of the little one. She could hardly refuse the opportunity to make an end to that awful noise, and to do a favor for a fellow mare as well. Motherhood was something Dash hardly understood anyway. It wasn't like she didn't like fillies, on the contrary: She loved their careless attitude and free spirits, as well as the admiration they showed towards her. It was the daily life of a family that made Dash choose the lonely skies, for the present time anyway.

But that balloon... Dash turned her head from side to side, her rainbow colored mane following the rhythm of her gaze. Some birds, a few idle clouds, some other pegasi – but no sight of a bright red balloon. She was about to move along when something strange caught her keen eye.

There was a hooded figure standing on the edge of the forest. Normally, Dash wouldn't have given a thing like that any second thought – ponies were moving around all the time anyway – but something about the stranger she could not quite name bothered her. First of all, it seemed like the figure was standing completely still, as if watching something intently. Curiously, there was nothing in particular to watch in the direction the stranger was facing. And wearing a hood on a hot day like this did seem a bit weird. The only sensible explanation for that would have been an attempt to hide oneself.

Now that was strange indeed.

Led by her curiosity, Dash decided to make a wide circle around the mysterious figure, to try and get behind the pony unnoticed. Moving from cloud to cloud as carefully as possible, Dash slowly found her way on the left side of the stranger, a couple hundred feet up and half that in length. It was just about then that the stranger decided to turn and vanish to the forest. Dash made a quick spurt above the place she supposed the figure went, but the thick roof of leaves made it impossible to see down. Despite her best efforts, Dash could not shake off the feeling that she had been seen, although if asked, she could not have given a good reason why someone would escape from her in the first place.

With nothing else to do, Dash left the scene to try and search that red balloon.

Her departure was witnessed by a pony standing silently in the shadow of a big oak. A pony with a hooded cloak and dark, deep eyes.

***

Truly, should she feel guilty for being so skilled in the art of sewing? She almost did, feel guilty that is, when she admired the day's work before her – a dress so fine a princess could wear it and feel twice her worth, although maybe that was overdoing it. Maybe.
Rarity lifted the dress with her magic and draped it nicely to a closet, ready for tomorrow when the mare who had ordered it would come and collect it. Sealing such a piece of art away from the world, even for a night, saddened her a bit. But that feeling would soon be replaced by the joy on the face of the mare, who would get to wear the thing. Generosity, after all, was the sweetest thing she knew. Closing the carved oaken doors behind her, Rarity made for downstairs, where her little sister was, for her horror, cooking.

”Oh my...” Was the only thing she managed to say after witnessing the mess the little filly had made, though Belle herself hardly seemed to notice neither the mess nor the reaction of her big sister. Needless to say, though, Rarity lacked the heart to scorn her little sister for the mess she had made. Instead, Rarity settled for worrying about it later and concentrated on the cupcakes instead – they were the harvest of the messy sacrifice.

”You like 'em?” Asked Sweetie Belle, with voice radiating innocence, hope and shyness.

”I think they pale in comparison only to the sweet filly who baked them.” Rarity's answer, while not completely honest, still made her sister happy enough.

”You think I will earn my cutie mark this way?” Belle continued.

”Why, I see no reason why that would not be the case.”

”So I can bake something else tomorrow, too?”

”Of course you can, sweetie... Though I must remind you to clean the kitchens first. And afterward.”

It was only after that last comment that Belle seemed to notice the aftermath of her cooking, instantly changing color out of shame and regret. Rarity only smiled.

”It is alright, sweetling. One can hardly make an omelet without breaking some eggs – or cupcakes without a mess following. I will help you with the dishes.” That brought the joyful smile back on the little filly's face, alright.

It was later that evening, when Sweetie Belle was already in bed, that Rarity decided to have a nice walk outside before hitting the hay herself, although it was a deluxe feather bed in her case. Taking a violet scarf with her, she set outside, quietly closing the door behind her.

The evening was almost as lovely as the dress she had finished that day, maybe even as lovely as that silvery moon shedding its light on all of Ponyville. The warmth of the day still lingered in the air, too. Taking a deep breath of that air, Rarity set galloping steadily towards a direction quite random, for it was the feeling she was after, not the road itself. There were some other ponies still awake besides her, either on their way home, or to a late night party, or even perhaps still trying to find an open shop somewhere, though that attempt would prove futile. As productive as it might be for a shopkeeper to prolong the time the shop was open, Princess Celestia had decreed recently that all merchants ought to call it a day at sunset. That hardly bothered Rarity, who liked to go to bed early in any case – a lady's best friend, after all, was a decent sleep.

It was at the small arched bridge that she finally stopped for a moment, enjoying them calming mix of the last rays of the evening sun and the sound of the stream beneath her. It really had a calming effect on her, even when feeling at ease, but especially during moments of stress. Because of this phenomenon she had come to like the site quite a bit. And to like a site was to visit it more often than not, and to visit was to learn all the details around you.

And one of those details had now changed.

Leaning her head slightly towards her left shoulder, Rarity watched the flower meadow that grew on the other side of the bridge, maybe 20 feet from her. Such a strange thing to notice, but... Hadn't those flowers been violet when she saw them last week? Moving closer and off the bridge she confirmed the change – these were different flowers altogether. She was sure they were and yet there were no signs of any garden work, no sign of somepony having planted new flowers on the site. And why would anypony do something like that anyway?

A sound of a breaking branch made Rarity lift her head from the flowers towards the supposed source. She did not need to look for long, for there was somepony standing not fifty feet from her, a thick hood covering the face of the stranger. That was not the weird thing, though.

The stranger seemed to look at her intently.

”Hello?” Rarity tried then, suddenly realizing how absurd it was just to stare a stranger without an attempt to start up a conversation. She received no reply.

Not even on the second try.

On the third she took a few steps towards the stranger, maybe a bit cautiously, for the situation was greatly vexing her.

It was then that the stranger turned and started walking away, following the stream. Intuitively Rarity started following a bit faster. She tried saying something again, too, receiving only silence in return.

Now this was starting to annoy her, this lack of manners. So she started galloping after the pony in front of her, only to find that he or she too was increasing pace. Few ponies paid them any attention as they raced the stream for a short while. After that the stranger effortlessly leapt across the stream and continued to the midst of buildings. Gathering her strength, Rarity followed close behind.

And then she was alone.

Panting slightly from the effort, Rarity looked around her, searching for the familiar figure, or anyone. Yet there she was, all alone in the midst of buildings and windows, their lights disappearing one by one. Suddenly she felt absurdly ashamed and stupid, having rushed like that after some complete stranger, who she probably had scared off. The thought came with the comfort of knowing that no one else expect the stranger and the silvery moon had witnessed the folly. Giving one last glimpse to her surroundings, just to find someone to apologize to, Rarity started galloping towards her home, her thoughts already shifting somewhere else.

She did not notice the slight movement in the shadow of one of the buildings. The shape that formed there greatly resembled a hooded pony.

***

It was one thing to say that a room had a timid atmosphere, but quite another to tell what exactly caused such an impression. Fluttershy’s house had many such rooms, yet it would be difficult to say exactly why one would describe them as timid. Was it that the colors pink and light yellow were so heavily represented? Or that neither sharp angles nor corners could be found? Or perhaps it was the way how the midday sunlight was cast on those curtains, pink of course, with flowers in them.

No, the shy and weirdly apologetic feeling in the house was not caused by the furniture or the structure, not even the animals that lived in there.

It was Fluttershy herself who was the source of this aura.

Indeed, it would not have taken long for an observant visitor to notice how a room, any room in fact, suddenly seemed to soften a little bit as soon as Fluttershy would make an appearance. Strangely enough, some found the effect calming, relaxing, even blissful at times. Especially the pets, who were all very fond of the pony with large, bright blue eyes, thought it was so. One would eventually get used to this strange aura, and only when the pony who was the source of it quietly left the room, would one notice its absence. As time passed from the visit, one might find the aura to be still hauntingly present somehow. It was as if it found you via a memory, and gently caressed your mind despite the distance.

But for some, it was different. For certain few individuals the extraordinary aura of kindness and goodwill would not incite feelings of gentleness, nor would it make them want to hug someone tightly. Curiously, few found the effect Fluttershy had on most ponies to be somewhat annoying, almost to the point of being provoked by it. On such occasions, they wanted to bring about a bit of nastiness, just to balance the scales.

Angel the bunny was one of these few. Sometimes he could not stand the smothering kindness and tenderness that his owner showed to every living being that would cross her path. Now some would regard this kind of reaction as either insanity or simple jealousy, but the truth was neither – Angel really was annoyed from time to time by the behavior of his owner. There were several reasons for this, although most of them could be pinned down to the fact that Angel, like many other bunnies, came from a large family. And like anyone who has lived in a large family knows, there is often little time left for the older siblings, because the younger ones consume almost all of the time and energy of their parents. Angel was the third kit of his family, which in the culture of lagomorphs was practically the same as being firstborn. Having grown enough to know when to run and when to hide, Angel had left his home burrow with few memories of intimate love and even fewer hopes for those, or so he told himself. For indeed, it was not just food and shelter he craved from his owner, but also that kindness that could melt an iceberg – but only in limited doses. When he judged his limit to endure overflowing tenderness to be exceeded, Angel would get picky and importunate, just for the sake for it. After all, it was not so common in the wild that a creature could make demands and expect them to be obeyed by another one, who was ten times larger in size. That fact, among others, ensured that Angel was having the time of his life in Fluttershy’s care, giving him more than enough reason to stick around for the rest of his days – despite the occasional awkward bursts of altruistic love.

...Much like the one he was experiencing right now. Fluttershy was preparing a scented bath just for him, followed by a manicure and a warm meal. Not only that, but she was singing too, with a voice like honey mixed with clouds, with a tiny bit of Bliss itself thrown in for spice. This gave Angel no other choice, in his view, than to chew the laced edges of the nearby tablecloth. The scales needed to be balanced, after all. His silent work was suddenly stopped by a strong knock on the front door. The sound of pouring water was silenced at the same time, and soon Fluttershy’s head appeared to the doorway opposing the living room, facing the front door. Angel was now sitting safely away from the slightly chewed tablecloth (mice could always be blamed for that), sitting nicely on the couch. As usual, Fluttershy seemed hesitant to answer the call of the visitor. A second knock, louder than the first, made her advance across the room with steps careful as the first snow. Angel bounced behind her, curious as ever.

The opening of the door was followed by a flashing of a wide smile on the face of the pony called Applejack. Her dog, Winona, was trailing behind her. Angel needed no more than that to bolt away from the door and under the couch, which he judged to be cramped enough to hide him from the big, wild thing. Not that the canine was that dangerous to him, quite the contrary - they came along fine when they encountered - but the instinct to run before a predator was strong enough to make Angel bolt. Recovering from this natural reflex, Angel peeked from under his cover, seeing Fluttershy talking with her friend. The dog was lingering out of sight; at least it was not inside the house. Still, Angel figured it best to stay put for now, although he could not hear the conversation that was going on. It turned out that they would be talking for quite a while. Long enough, in fact, for Angel to hop back to the protection of his owner’s rich mane.

Once there, he found out that Applejack was in need of help; her pet had hurt its leg somehow. Some chit-chat followed, naturally, and exchanging of news, nothing very interesting – until Fluttershy asked her friend to come in for a cup of tea. More importantly, Applejack agreed.

Now this needed some radical measures, and quickly.

Like we remember, Angel was hardly fond of his owners capacity to overwhelm a room with her inner kindness, and it so happened that that kindness was at its strongest during her tea time sessions. Truly, one did not know the meaning of cuteness, tenderness, or gentleness and things like that before one had experienced a tea time session with Fluttershy – and Angel was hardly in need of a reminder. Backing off quietly, he managed to escape to the bathroom before his owner might find it appropriate for her pet to attend the table, or worse yet, make him comfort the hurt dog. Bouncing atop furniture and pushing the window of the bathing room open, Angel fled the scene of approaching biscuits, honeyed tea and overwhelming cuteness. He didn’t look back.

There were all kinds of things a bunny could do in a garden, much like the one Angel had landed in. Carrots, among other vegetables, were there just waiting to be eaten, the warm, soft soil almost begged to be dug full of holes and there might be other bunnies around, too. All things considered, though, Angel decided to play it easy, in case his presence was required in the house. Disobedience as such was something he took lightly, while living under Flutteshy’s roof, although there were limits even he would not dare to cross. The Stare, after all, always loomed as the ultimate threat her owner could make. But if he could not be seen, chances were that he would not be missed, either. So he decided to take a nap under the sweet smelling rose bushes nearby, their heavy scent making him dizzy even from afar. It did not take long for him to drift to sleep.

Before he could meet the bunny girls of his dreams, though, a crack of a branch nearby woke him up, and it woke him like a lightning bolt might have done. Prey did not often sleep so deeply, not even tame prey. Deciding to relax a bit if no immediate danger presented itself, Angel peeked under the red flowers to find the source of the noise – might be that those dreams he wished to see would come true instead.

It was not a bunny that he saw moving in the shadow of a tree about twenty feet from him. Despite the midday sun’s brightness and his sharp bunny eyes, Angel could not make out the face of the pony who was sneaking around the fence that separated Fluttershy’s garden from the grass fields beyond. The hooded figure made its way towards some bushes not ten feet from the house, and a window that showed Fluttershy and Applejack drinking tea inside. There was something unnatural in the way the strange pony moved, its shape twisting and disappearing into the background, its hooves barely making a sound. Angel had to stretch his senses not to lose the stranger from sight, a feat few predators in the land of Equestria could boast achieving. It was only after the pony had settled itself behind some bushes that the bunny started to breathe again, although that was just about as much relaxing as he would permit himself – something about that pony made his hair stand on end.

And then the pony turned its head, meeting Angel’s eyes with ones that were dark as the bark of an oak, deep as the bottom of a quagmire. That was enough for Angel, who bolted away at the instant he could tear his eyes from those of the stranger, the interval seemingly lasting hours instead of fractions of a second.

It was only at the end of the day that he dared to hop back into the house. And as soon as he found Fluttershy doing the dishes inside, Angel threw his paws around her neck, hugging that soft skin tightly and embracing that pink mane that engulfed him. Never before had the kindness of Fluttershy felt so good to him.

Not before gazing into those dark, deep eyes.

***

Sometimes people were amazed to find that Spike was a dragon – not because of his size nor his gentle nature, but because of his willingness to serve. Most of Ponyville grown accustomed to that thought by now, but every now and then a stranger came by, noticed this exotic state of affairs and, urged by curiosity, came to chat with either Twilight or Spike himself. Spike did not mind this much, although Twilight seemed a bit tired of explaining the same story over and over.

There was a time in Spike's life when he had wondered if his behavior was somehow violating some law of nature – frankly, dragons were hardly famous of their aptitude to serve. There were theories he had pondered and methodically worked on them, only to find them stupid and lacking in the logic department. On one fine day long ago, Spike had just stopped thinking about the whole thing, and had not troubled himself with it since. He feel quite content with his place and work, after all. Even the less savory tasks he performed with precision and devotion, their intensity comparable only to the sense of honor it brought him when receiving his thanks afterward. Altruism was his philosophy, self-sacrifice his law, and the need to please his drive. True, sometimes he wanted some time and space for himself, needed distance from his daily life; a tendency somepony might have called laziness and that somepony would not have been totally wrong. Yet, there was also something else that lived inside him, and at those moments when his altruistic energy seemed to leave him, a darker power rose instead, demanding some time for Spike only. It was a strange feeling to him, and rare; yet somehow he knew that greed would consume his thoughts and cloud his wits, rising from the depths of his soul like an ancient monster, full of twisted intentions. But he never let those thoughts have complete control over him, not really – his heart belonged to Good, to his friends, it was not his alone.

It was a bit of that greed that he felt, though, when thinking about the bag full of jewels he had been saving in the kitchens. The taste of them never left his tongue, it would seem, nor the hunger for them. They were for later, though, and now it was time to finish the day's chores. Twilight had again left dozens of books lying around in her search for some spell, so it was left for him to put them back in order. Reading the covers while collecting them in his lap, Spike tried to figure out what kind of magic it was this time the pony was after, yet the books seemed to be selected at random – it seemed so to him, at least. Botany of the Saddle-Arabia seemed to have little in common with, say, The Study of Stars and Planets, yet he was sure there was some sense in what Twilight did, despite of it being nonsensical to him. He was slowly getting to know his employer, more accurately his friend, better and better too, and sometimes he could even guess at the thoughts going through her head. Lately Twilight seemed to have been bothered about something, and it was not about botany nor stars, that much he was sure of.

It was at that moment that Twilight returned to the house, closing the front door behind her and walking to the library. Spike made regrets of how he should have cleaned before she got back, put Twilight assured it was fine, like he knew she would. Some things still needed to be said regardless of their predictable answers, like a ritual.

Twilight was in no mood for rituals, though. She had had a long day in Ponyville's library, to which she had resorted to go after finding her own repertoire to be inadequate for her quest. The library had been a dead end too, but she was far from the point of giving up, as was usual. But now she was too tired to fight against the clock: The quest could wait 'till tomorrow. Refusing Spike's well timed and expected offers for supper, Twilight made her ascent upstairs, responding to Spike's goodnight wish before closing her bedroom door.

It was only after she had closed the door, when she realized that somepony was climbing out of the window. The sight of a slender, dark figure melting silently into the evening air made her shriek in surprise, and back against the door in a jolt of panic. She recovered quickly, though, and made for the window to see where the intruder had gone. Her eyes were still adjusted enough to the spreading darkness of the evening so that she spotted the figure instantly as it ran from the tree and towards the town's edge. Hesitating only half a second, Twilight decided to follow – concentrating her remaining energy, she teleported to the ground and started galloping after the pony, who had broken into her house, into her bedroom. The anger that came after that thought gave her cramped hooves new strength for the pursuit, but the other pony was fast. Had it been that just speed decided the winner of the race—Twilight would only have needed to teleport again and seize the pony with her magic—but the intruder was agile too, jumping over crates and other obstacles and making quick turns around corners. Twilight had to concentrate just to keep from losing sight of her target, so no time was left to use magic, much to the intruder's advantage.

The chase lasted a few more minutes, and was ended abruptly in a crash between Twilight and another pony jumping from a side alley into her side. A painful collision ensued, and when Twilight could raise her head again, the stranger was gone: Only a memory of its hooded figure remained.

“You okay, Twilight?” Asked an overly concerned, high voice above her. It was Pinkie Pie, no doubt about that.

“I'm fine, Pinkie. How about you?” Twilight almost succeeded in hiding her annoyance with her answer. The slight feeling of dizziness helped – it was hard to be angry at anyone when most of your energy was consumed by the throbbing pain in your forehead.

Pinkie's answer was unsurprisingly positive, the collision being ancient history for her few seconds after its occurrence. She helped Twilight to stand up on all fours again, after which Twilight asked if Pinkie had seen where the stranger had gone.

“No can do. My vision was filled with you at the time.”

“Yes, I noticed, Pinkie. It was just that I was chasing that pony and - “

“Why where you chasing her?” Pinkie asked, exaggerating her body language, expressions and volume as usual, although Twilight was not in the mood to receive any of that right now.

“That pony broke into my house! Into my bedroom! Just a few minutes ago! And I do not even know if it was a she, although the figure was lean enough...”

“Surely you know that Zecora is a mare, right? Weird that she would be in your bedroom, though.”

Twilight's jaw dropped after that, her eyes widening in disbelief.

“What?” Was all that she managed.

“I said, how come you didn’t know that Zecora is a mare, that's like, obvious, and - “

“How did you know it was Zecora? Are you sure?”

“Not sure. Pinkie Positive. You didn’t notice?”

“I was, I... No, I had no idea. That is really strange... You aren't pulling my hoof, are you?”

“I wouldn’t! Or yes I would, sure, but only when it would be fun. You don't seem like you're having fun now.”

Pinkie was right about that, at least. After a few more questions it turned out that she had seen Zecora earlier that day, wearing that same hood and cloak the stranger had, moving in the outskirts of the town. She assured Twilight that it was Zecora, with the black and white tail and flank proving that. Pinkie had even tried talking to her, but Zecora had just run away – and not the “I wanna race” -kind of way, like Pinkie described it. That was all she knew about Zecora's movements today, though, for she had been more obsessed with trying to find glowworms, which was the task she had been preoccupied with right up to the collision. Twilight told in return how she had found the stranger in her room and how she had chased her across the town. After that it was plain that no more could be achieved with words today, and Twilight felt twice as tired as when she had left the library a good two hours ago. After exchanging goodnights with Pinkie, the two went their separate ways, Twilight homewards to get some sleep and Pinkie to find some glowworms.

At home Twilight was yet again greeted by Spike's apologetic tone – until he realized it was the second time today he was sorry about the books being out of place. Sighing, Twilight told the whole story again. Spike had not much to say about that, just more questions and speculation, things that Twilight found plenty enough in her own mind. Saying goodnight again, she went to her bedroom and closed the door, only to find a note on her otherwise empty table. She opened it with suspicion...

…And closed it with perplexity engulfing her thoughts.

Twilight Sparkle, we must now talk. Meet me tomorrow, on a long moonlit walk.

-Your Friend Zecora