A Very Special Day in Canterlot
A Very Special Day in Canterlot
Twilight Sparkle stood in an open-air dining area in the Canterlot Castle Gardens, digging one hoof against the ground in a nervous fidget. Behind her, gripped in the wavering glow of her magic, was a bouquet of the twelve most perfect red roses in all of Canterlot. That was no exaggeration, either; she had spent all morning and much of the afternoon rushing between every possible vendor, from Proud Petals Edible Delights in High Canterlot to the nameless stands in the Lower Canterlot marketplaces. Meticulously checking every rose for defects, insisting on taste testing each vendor’s wares, demanding certificates of quality and obtaining written guarantees of freshness, gauging each flower’s aesthetic appeal both subjectively and objectively, and going about the entire process with the fanatical zeal of one who knew that her entire future, nay, the fate of her immortal soul itself hung on everything being absolutely, exactly right.
It had taken her weeks of planning, and much encouragement from her friends, to reach this point. They had been with her every step of the way, from the moment she had first brought up her feelings to them. They had reassured her that, no, it wasn’t silly for a mare her age to have such strong emotions about somepony. They had stood beside her and encouraged her, repeatedly at times, to make her feelings known. They had each given her their own perspective, their own advice, on how to go about it. But they had all agreed that today, of all days, should be the day it happened.
They were to meet for dinner here, in the Castle Gardens. Although Twilight no longer lived at the Castle, she’d become familiar with the ponies who worked in it while she was there, and she’d had no trouble pulling a few strings to get the best seats in the house. It was a private table, just big enough for two, surrounded by hedges just tall enough to let them be totally alone, without fully obscuring the view of the gorgeous stonework that was characteristic of the area. Immaculately-kept beds of flowers--mostly purple and white, naturally she had made sure to get the one with purple and white flowers--further brightened what was already an idyllic scene.
Her nose twitched as a familiar scent drifted by. She was here. Suddenly, in her mind, Twilight was a filly again: galloping through the tall grass under her watchful eyes; giggling uncontrollably at being discovered in a game of hide and seek; poring over stacks of magical references and spellbooks under her eternally patient instruction; laying cradled safely between her forelegs on the nights when sleep would not come and her own room seemed far too large and empty for one little filly; prancing around the stage where she had taken her entrance exam for the School for Gifted Unicorns and seeing her own pride reflected in that loving gaze and warm smile. She stood and let the memories wash over her, strengthening her resolve, reminding her of why she should do this. Why she had to do this.
“Twilight?” came the gentle voice. Twilight kept her gaze to the ground, all of her attention on the hole she had dug with her nervous hoof. She knew the other mare would have already seen the roses, but of course she had made no comment. Of course not. She would patiently wait for Twilight to make her own way through this, as she did in all things, perhaps providing a gentle nudge in one direction or another, but ultimately leaving her free to make her own mistakes or achieve her own victories. She was always the mentor, always the teacher, but never the instructor. Always inspiring her to see the right path, but never forcing her to walk it.
At Twilight’s silence, the other pony walked closer and gave her a light nuzzle on the cheek. Twilight jumped slightly, but the contact broke her from her thoughts and prompted her to speak. Just a little nudge in the right direction, a part of her thought with some amusement. The familiar, comforting smell of her was stronger now, a balm to Twilight’s frazzled nerves. At that moment, embraced in the other mare’s nearness, Twilight finally realized that she didn’t need to be perfect at all for this pony. She just had to be herself, and she would be loved for it.
“Th-thank you for coming,” the young unicorn murmured. Her eyes remained on the ground, but her posture slowly relaxed as her confidence rose.
“Of course, Twilight.” Twilight could hear the smile in her voice, that warm and loving smile, and she could almost imagine its warmth seeping into her coat like the rays of the sun itself. “Why would I not?”
“I just wanted to... to thank you,” Twilight pressed on. “For everything. For being there for me. For always encouraging me to keep pursuing my dreams, even when things seemed hopeless to me. For picking me up when I fell and putting me back on my hooves. For believing in me, even when I didn’t believe in myself. I wouldn’t be the mare I am today if not for you. I know we don’t see as much of each other since I moved away to Ponyville, and I... I know I don’t write as much as I should.” Twilight’s ears drooped for a moment. “But I just wanted to say that...” The young unicorn gathered her courage and finally lifted her eyes to look at the pony in front of her.
She was as beautiful as she had ever been. Her purple and white mane was cropped short in the front in the same style that Twilight, since she was a foal, had favored for her own mane as well. Her light gray coat seemed to glow in the late afternoon sun. Her face sported a few more wrinkles now, badges from long years of both smiles and tears over the harrowing antics of her two children, but her gentle cyan eyes still shone with the same vivacious joy that had inspired Twilight all throughout her foalhood. And perhaps there was just a hint of a tear there, too.
Twilight lifted the bouquet of roses from behind her back. They were slightly wilted from the heat now, and some of the leaves had been bent out of place by being unconsciously wrung in her nervous magical grasp, but she knew that to the mare in front of her, they would be the twelve most perfect red roses in all of Canterlot.
“I just wanted to say that I love you, Mom. Happy Mother’s Day.”
For my mother, without whom I might never have started writing.
