It seems like such a normal evening. Nothing at all out of the ordinary. My meeting with my investment manager ended precisely at the appointed time. I returned to the ivory mansion that Fleur de Lis and I call home and check to see if the maid remembered to dust the mantle (she did). I pour myself an aperitif and settle in with the newspaper, waiting for Fleur to return from her outing with "The Fillies," as she likes to call them.
Normally I have barely enough time to read the first page before I hear those dainty hoofsteps on the stairs, but this time I finish the paper and start on a book from my library before my companion arrives.
She is radiant, shining as cool and white as the moon that peeks in around the curtain. This, indeed, is my greatest accomplishment in life. The most inexpressibly beautiful unicorn in Equestria is my companion, and has been so for more years than I can remember. She is the tangible proof that my life has reached its pinnacle, like a magnificent trophy placed atop the china cabinet where I have placed all of my hopes and dreams, each one accomplished in its time and carefully stored away.
But the cabinet is off-balance this evening. Fleur's smile she always wears is a little off balance. Her carefully coiffed mane, the color of blossoms in the springtime, trembles ever so slightly. And her eyes... her eyes have the oddest look. Somehow I have the feeling that the cabinet is about to fall, bringing every prize down to shatter on the floor, including- and especially- my beautiful trophy.
She says nothing, so I speak first.
"Did you enjoy your evening, my dove?"
In response, she blinks, opening and closing her mouth several times. Finally, she is able to find words.
"One of those photographers approached me," she says in that silky voice of hers. I could close my eyes and drift on the sound of it, ignoring whatever meaning the words hold. In any case, our words seem to have less significance as time goes by.
"He- he asked the silliest thing," she tittered a laugh. It sounded a little tinny to my ears; had it always been that way?
"He said he wanted me to star in an advertisement for foals' diapers. To be the mother in it, I mean. Can you imagine it? Me, surrounded by foals?"
The correct response is obvious. "Fleur, my dear, you would make a lovely mother."
A bit of a flush appears on her pristine white cheeks. "Do you really think so?"
"Of course I do," I smile. "I'm certain that if our lives had taken that path, any foal would be fortunate to call you 'Mother.' Be that as it may, however, I feel rather the fortunate one to be able to enjoy my relatively comfortable life in peace and quiet, without interference from a gaggle of... ankle-biters."
I sip my drink, confident that this bit of informality has been well timed. But instead, when I look up, the smile on Fleur's face has vanished.
"Fleur? My dear, is something wrong?"
"Oh, of course not!" She tosses her mane girlishly. "It just makes me feel old, that's all."
"Nothing could be farther from the truth," I assure her, and I mean it. "In fact, I would be most honored if you would deign to be seen with me at The Porcelain Teacup tonight."
"Oh, I would love to, but I've already eaten," she replies automatically.
"You have? I'm sorry to hear that. It seems we've been sharing few meals together lately."
She smiles pacifically, but her mind is elsewhere.
"I'll just see what I can scrounge up around here, then."
"No! Please, go without me!" There is that titter again. "I don't want anypony to think you're held back by a ball and chain."
"A ball and chain? Really! Fleur, are you worried about that again?"
"No, no. Never mind. Please, enjoy your supper."
She backs into the hall. I consider getting up from my chair, but that might only disturb her more.
"I'm always here if you want to talk," I offer. When there is no response, I sigh and return to my book. Sooner or later I would find out what was bothering her. Or else it would simply fade away, like every other unpleasant feeling between us.
That night is an unusually restless one. Fleur comes to bed late, after raiding the pantry for anything I might have missed during my solitary supper at home. I fall asleep, but am awakened by her returning to bed sometime in the night. I didn't know she had left. This is odd enough, but I might have fallen back asleep and forgotten all about it if she hadn't started weeping. I prick my ears up: to my knowledge, Fleur hasn't cried in a very long time. Now she lies with her back to me, shaking with heartbreaking sobs.
From past experience, I know that she hates to be bothered when she's like this. She has taught me very well that overtures on my part are never welcome when she is in an emotional state, and though it seems cruel of me, I have learned to treat her the way that she prefers.
But tonight, perhaps because it had been so long since an emotional episode had occurred, or perhaps because her crying is so intensely sad, I can't help but try to reach out to her in some way. Carefully, I roll over and extend one hoof to rub her back.
This, however, only seems to make matters worse. She muffles her sobs into a pillow and inches away from me. I watch her sadly through the dim moonlight, until eventually her tears slow to a stop, and my traitorous eyes refuse to stay open for one second more.
The metallic cacophony of Fleur's alarm clock is an unwelcome intruder in the morning, clanging in my head like an audible headache.
"I thought it was Saturday," I mumble sleepily.
"It is, dearest," she replies as she silences it. Then she turns to me, nuzzling my face and licking my ear a bit. "How silly of me- I forgot to turn it off yesterday. Go back to sleep."
"Mmmf." But something is wrong with her posture as she lays back down. I have the feeling that her eyes are still open, so I remain awake as I close my eyes, waiting to see what she is doing.
Just as I suspected, she slips out of bed a few minutes later. A possibility presents itself: she occasionally likes to make breakfast for me. Fleur is by no means an accomplished cook, but she can make a batch of muffins. Despite its simplicity, something about the fact that my companion did it all for me makes those mornings the most warm and enjoyable moments of our time together.
I slip back into a doze, confident that I have a lovely sun-filled morning to look forward to. However, when I awaken again, it is not to the scent of freshly prepared breakfast, but rather to the sound of objects moving about the bedroom.
"Fleur?" I blink, looking at the valises floating out the door, surrounded by silvery pink magic. "Good heavens! What are you doing?"
My beloved is standing just outside the door, neatly stacking her impressive array of luggage. Despite the early hour, she is already dressed in a jaunty gray traveling coat and hat. When she sees me, she startes and drops the hatbox she had been levitating.
"Fancy! I didn't mean to wake you! I just..."
"Are you going somewhere?"
She won't meet my eyes. "I wrote you a letter. It's on the kitchen counter."
Despite my many questions, she won't answer a thing or let me draw near, so at last I resort to finding the blasted note. There, in the kitchen, where I had hoped to find a loving breakfast, is nothing but a single letter on Fleur's cold white stationary.
"Fancy Pants, my love..." it begins. The elegant curls of her beautiful handwriting mask the bitter disappointment in the message. After many protestations of her undying love and of my kindness toward her, she announces that she is leaving me, never to return.
Flabbergasted, I look up from the note, but the door is already slamming shut. I use my magic to open it again, and hurry at a rather undignified pace to the front yard, but my carriage is already pulling away. Fleur's face appears in the window, but when she sees me, she hides in the middle of the carriage. Before I can decide what to do, it has already rounded the curve in our driveway and disappeared behind the topiary.
Just like that, the love of my life is gone. I paced on the staircase before the massive oak doors, thinking. For my own sanity, I need more of an explanation than she gave me, but it would be terribly indecorous to chase after her. If this is her decision, then I ought to respect it and let her go.
But why? What had I done to make her leave? I have always tried to give her the place of honor in my life, and let her know how much I value having her on my arm. Have I said something unwittingly? Perhaps she changed her mind about wanting foals- mares often do when they reach a certain age. Perhaps she was unhappy that I gave up on proposing marriage after she rebuffed me- what was it, three times? Four?- and wanted me to ask again. Well, I can hardly do that now, I reason. Clearly something is very wrong.
Nearly an hour later, after I manage to pull myself together enough to get dressed and hire a carriage, I arrive at the only place I could imagine she had gone: her brother's house.
Just as I remember, it is a large brownstone house in the oldest quarter of Canterlot- very expensive, but lacking in originality. As the carriage approaches, I see Fleur still standing outside the front door, luggage neatly lined up along the sidewalk, and her brother, Marseillaise, arguing with her from the doorway.
Hurriedly, I instruct the driver to pull around the corner. Neither, I believe, have seen me.
Their voices are audible but indistinct from beyond the side of the next house. I hand the driver a few bits, then poked my head around the corner.
"Mother always said you'd never amount to anything," the violet unicorn shakes his head in disgust.
"It's not that bad," Fleur's soft voice is pleading. "Please, Marcel-"
"Not that bad? Not that BAD?! An unwed, unplanned pregnancy is not that bad?!" Marseillaise roars.
I stand bolt upright in shock. Fleur is pregnant?!
"No pony in our family has ever been enceinte sans mariage!" her brother continued. "How is our family name supposed to recover from this?"
"No one has to know. Please, just let me stay in your summer cottage," Fleur sniffles. That heartless villain is making her cry! "No one will know me there, and I can raise my foal in peace."
"Oh, that's rich. You want me to reward your wanton behavior by giving you a house. What makes you think you deserve it, you filthy..."
Marseillaise then begins to assault her with the kind of language that would peel the paper from the walls. Is this the kind of treatment my delicate flower receives when she visits her family? One thing is certain- even if she can stand to see herself treated that way, I can't.
"How dare you!" I shout, charging up the sidewalk in a fury. "This lady is your sister, and in a delicate condition, no less. How can you be so heartless?"
Fleur looks up when she hears my voice, but instead of smiling, she closed her eyes and weeps silently in utter humiliation. Marseillaise tosses his white mane haughtily.
"Go back to your retirement home, old man. Fleur left you, and she's moving into my cottage. It's none of your business."
"You're letting her move into your cottage? It certainly didn't sound like that a minute ago," I snort, "from what I could tell between all the abuses you were hurling at her."
"I was just making her grovel a little. It's a small price to pay for ruining our family."
"I think she has paid enough." I search my hooves for gloves, but finding them bare, I reach into my breast pocket with my magic and draw one out. After lifting it high in the air to be sure Fleur's boorish brother can see it, I let it fall onto the small flight of stairs before the door. Seeing the gauntlet thrown down, Fleur backs away, shaking her head, but Marseillaise's eyes widen in glee.
"You just made a huge mistake, old man."
I ignore him and turn to my former companion, removing my cuff links and rolling up my sleeves. "Fleur, when I have finished trouncing your dolt of a brother, I would like to have a discussion with you. I believe you owe me that courtesy, as it is, after all, my foal as well."
"Are you sure?" Marseillaise smirks, and launches himself off the stairs at me. A dust cloud springs up around us as we battle for Fleur's honor.
Less than a minute later, I find myself unceremoniously ejected from the fight, covered in bruises and sporting a black eye. Marseillaise, as it turns out, has the advantage of youth, and doesn't mind fighting dirty. He stands back, relatively unharmed, the louse.
"There! Now I'll thank you to stay out of my family business," he shouts, dusting off his hooves, and turning to his sister.
"Come on, Fleur. Let's get your things into the guest bedroom."
"No," Fleur speaks up for the first time in several minutes.
"What?!"
"I'm going with Fancy. We need to talk."
Marseillaise glares at her. "There's nothing to talk about."
She ignores him and begins floating her suitcases into the back of my carriage again.
"If you leave now, you will never be welcome here again!"
"That's what you always say," she replies coolly, before following the last of her bags into the carriage. I follow her in, and she shuts the door behind us.
While Fleur is in the process of instructing the driver to take us to the nearest park, I hear the sound of hooves falling on the carriage door. Is Marseillaise attacking my vehicle?!
"I mean it this time!" he yells at her through the window. "You're going to be out on the street before you know it. Fancy Panties isn't going to keep someone like you around for long, and then you'll be sorry!"
The carriage begins to move, and he drops to the ground. "And lose some weight!" he calls as a parting shot. That seems particularly uncalled-for to me (especially when one considers Fleur's slender physique, as I often do), and I wonder why he said it. But the carriage bumping along the cobblestone streets forces my attention rather painfully back to my bruises.
"Oh, mon pauvre," Fleur sighs, her liquid eyes all sympathy. "Here, lay down."
I acquiesce, and she pulls a damp cloth from somewhere, dabbing at my injuries with her magic. The soft pink glow of her horn is every bit as soothing as the cool water she offers.
"I had suspected for some time, but yesterday was the day I found out for certain that I was... expecting," she explains. Her voice is low, smooth, and calming.
"I thought I was too old. I was convinced of it. So I stopped taking preventative measures. I thought... and then two weeks ago I started being sick. I wanted to spare you the shame and public ridicule, so I decided to leave."
"Was that why you had to leave the table sometimes? My dear, if I'd only known! And your sudden aversion to foie gras salad..."
"N'en dites pas!" she exclaims suddenly. "Don't even say the word."
She laughs a little, uneasily, and I join in, as much to make her feel comfortable as anything. Her stunning amethyst eyes beam down on me for a second. Then she begins to clutch her midsection.
"Stop the carriage!" she pleads in a strange voice. Before it comes to a complete stop, she leaps out of the door and into the park. I watch as she whips her head around frantically, but seeing no sanitary facilities in sight, she races over to a large bush, barely making it in time as her body begins to convulse.
"Oh, Fleur." I walk up to her as quickly as I can manage with my injuries, but by the time I reach her, she has finished. All I can do is rub her back consolingly as she dabs herself with another mysteriously appearing handkerchief.
"You should head back home without me," she says quietly. "I'm disgusting."
"I won't hear of it! The distance is too far for you to walk, especially in your condition, and besides, I pay some ponies very well to clean my carriage."
I begin to head back, but Fleur refuses to budge. Apparently, that was not what she meant.
"Fleur? What is the matter?" I ask, smiling a little at the absurdity of that question in this situation.
Then my ears perk up. Two ponies are approaching on the path. In another moment, they will be close enough to recognize us, and I do not want them seeing us in these undignified circumstances.
"If you don't mind," I whisper, pointing my horn toward the couple. Fleur nods, and we race back to the carriage, closing the door just in time.
As soon as we are safely inside, I burst out laughing. "What a picture! Would you have thought it possible- the two of us, vomiting in the bushes and fighting in the street?"
I raise my monocle to my eye, but the glass is cracked, which to me only increases the humor of the situation. Fleur laughs as well, but only a little.
"Don't be ashamed, my cherub. I haven't felt so alive in years!" I smile broadly. Fleur's gaze is inquisitive, but finally she allows herself a smile. And what a smile it is- it holds a blazing warmth that fills my eyes and turns my legs to jelly. There is none of her usual aloofness barring me from her true feelings. For a brief moment, we share something very precious.
"Fleur- I want you to be like this with me all the time." I kneel before her cushion, desperate for this moment to continue.
"We haven't been honest or genuine with each other. There has always been a mask, and... and fear, and coldness between us."
Fleur nods, and I'm somewhat surprised to see that she understands my rambling explanation. Encouraged, I pour my heart out to her.
"I want the Fleur de Lis I've seen today. I need her. I would do anything to see her again."
I nuzzle her face, and she doesn't stop me. Strangely, I notice that she is trembling.
"Fleur, my love, my angel, my life," the words pour out. "Will you marry me?"
Her eyes open, and she is silent. But her forelegs creep around my shoulders, and instead of offering empty excuses, she nods her head against my neck.
Finally my words stop. I hold her for a long time, safe inside our carriage. For the moment, at least, I don't need to see her smile. I can feel it.
