Trixie hummed to herself a soft, traditional Roani hymn to Princess Luna. Her magical grip held firmly to the hammer and nails she was using to hang up the framed photographs of herself and her fiancee, taken on the cheap. It may have seemed strange to any others, but gadje could never understand Roa creativity when it came to making lovely things to brighten a dark place.
The frames were magic-made; she was discovering quite a talent for working wood into basic shapes. She still was not that adept at working with glass so the frames were open. The pictures were instant camera photos with some fuzziness and blurring, and photo strips from the small booths at carnivals and fairs, and “politely asked-for” prints from larger group shots. They were taped to the frames, about as secure and well-fit as was possible.
“La-la-la-la... and she will protect her children, the night will hide them from their fears. The night will save them from hatred, the night will bend to dry their tears.” She was feeling especially cultural that day, costume earrings clipped to both ears, cheap necklaces draped around her neck, all of them gifts from her beloved griffin. Feelings mattered more than the monetary value, so long as they brought joy and delight. She was even wearing the traditional Roani tail ribbon, the colorful band tied securely around the base of her tail, the fall of fabric modestly covering the split between her flanks.
She had been alone so long, and cut off from the clan culture, even as she lived like them in some sense. She had almost lost her traditions and her culture. The culture that had informed her life and being when she was a little filly. The culture that had colored all her style choices and decorative taste. The culture that had sent her running for her life more than once, and earned fear and hatred from other ponies...
She shook her head and sighed, setting aside her tools. She was done anyhow, even if the song wasn't. She trotted her way slowly back to the central nest. It, too, was wonderfully decorated, utilitarian mismatched cushions replaced with colorful, if cheap, pillows of many sizes in bright and complimentary colors. She snuggled down into the soft surface within the nest, inhaling deeply as the warm scent of mingled musk wafted up from the pillows. She inhaled deeply and let out a long, pleasured sigh.
A hoof stroked over the large pillowed that smelled the most like her. The lightly spicy scent of a female griffin... a reflexively-dominant female griffin. Trixie pulled a smile and kissed the pillow. She tried so hard to act tough and strong, to be the “male” as griffins understood the term. Not because she was so entrenched in her own culture or anything like that. It had simply informed her actions. She now had a “hen” to care for. She was strong; thus, she was supposed to act as she did. “But you'll always be my hen. My mare. My female.” The unicorn hugged the pillow tightly to her chest, unleashing more of that scent, filling her lungs with the familiar and missed sign of Gilda.
Trixie snuggled herself down in the comfortable nest of pillows, curled up in a cozy posture. She worked hard for the decoration of her shared home, and worked hard when she was working on their often-shared shows. But Gilda got booked by herself with some frequency, and was away so much she truly worked hardest of all. Trixie felt so... lazily indulgent. That was both shameful and oddly appealing.
The Roa were travelers by nature, thanks to the travails of their distant history. But their traditions told that one day they would find peace and stability. Any Roa that, through some combination of luck, skill or their own personality, managed to find themselves in a secure and stable place and who did not need to hide their nature, were to savor and enjoy that rest. They had attained the promise of the Roa, and did good for their kind to enjoy what had been promised to them, to let them know that it was possible to enjoy rest and plenty.
But that was all fluffy, deeply-cultured collections of the mystic traditions. She was only steeped in the ideas; she did not literally believe in such things. She had been raised on traveling, hard work, and not being satisfied with just resting when she could be doing more. Yes there was... so much pleasure inherent in lazing about like a pampered Canterlot rich mare. She only needed some fancy chocolates and a glass of champagne, or a mimosa.
After a long space of resting and listening to the clock tick slowly away she heard the door open up with a light thud. It wasn't angry, at all. The one opening the door was just deliciously strong. “Hey dude, I'm back.” The rough voice was cheerful, a smile plain in the tone. Bits clinked away in the small bowl beside the door, forming a fair-sized pile before the door was pushed closed and a heavy body thumped down in the nest, to draw in the closed-eyed mare. “Did you miss me, fishcakes?”
Trixie suppressed a giggle. Griffin terms of endearment were so unusual, yet always said with such passion and warmth. “Well... you have interrupted the Great and Powerful Trixie's rest. She was savoring the comfort of this adequate pile of softness.” She then rolled over and tangled herself in her griffin's embrace. “But I missed you. I missed you so much.”
Their lips met, over and over again, tongues darting out randomly to swipe at each others lips and tongues. Their breaths huffed out hotly, their limbs stroked passionately over their bodies. Gilda was privileged to caress her talons over the silky-smooth fur of a lithe and beautiful pony; Trixie was given the pleasure of running her trembling hooves over the tightest, hardest cords and slabs of muscle that she could ever imagined existed in any creature.
The loving make-out session faded into gentle touching, a warmly-snuggled stroking and touching of flanks. Both of their eyes were closed; they could 'see' one another perfectly well through feel. Trixie added an extra element of touch with a warm caress from her magic, rolling down her lover's body. Gilda cooed lightly, her throat ruff puffed to the fullest, the surest sign of her delight. She nuzzled over Trixie's snout and quietly spoke, “Mmm, you're wearing that Roani ribbon again. You know how much I love that thing.”
“It is not a “thing”!” Trixie huffed her response with wounded dignity hiding a playful smirk. “And it is not designed to make griffin hens hot and bothered! It is to decorate our bodies and let us be modest even if we are otherwise bare like other ponies. We cannot always wear flashy clothing and jewelry.”
Gilda chuckled throatily, talons teasingly toying with the ribbon, pulling it slightly tight between her marefriend's flanks. “Mmm, and it is VERY pretty. But modest? I thought you ponies didn't care about that kind of thing. I know griffins don't care about that.”
Trixie gasped loudly, arching her back a slight bit, a husky laugh spilling from her mouth. “I don't really. It's hard to explain. A long time ago the Roa decided to have a marker to identify them. And it served a practical purpose, keeping prying eyes from a spot they shouldn't be, because there were a lot of picky folks that said a lot about tempting and teasing.”
“Well, you sure are a tease...” Gilda's tongue traced around Trixie's lips, followed by gentle pecks of kisses. “All I know is... I'm liking this Roa stuff. I never used to care about culture. Bald Culture is really boring. Eyrie go bragh and all that kinda lame-o junk. It's everywhere in the kingdom.”
“You have a kingdom...” Trixie whispered, just loudly enough to reach Gila's perception, making her fluff droop.
“Hey, hey, fishcakes...” Gilda gingerly cupped Trixie's flanks, drawing her up into a tender squeeze. “It's okay... I know you don't have a Roa land. But you've got this nice house. Isn't that good?”
Trixie squeezed Gilda's solid body with a hungry desperation, as though absorbing the privilege of being grounded and stable through touch. “I just don't know sometimes.”
“Well you... you love me, right? That's good?”
“I love you. That's wonderful.” A kiss lightly pressed against Gilda's beak. “But I wish I had my own kingdom or lots of respect...” Trixie's head settled down against Gilda's keel.
Gilda curled in reflexively, as she always did. She was was to protect her mare, through all the troubles that might come. Her head rested gently on Trixie's, a smile curling her beak. “I respect you...”
The sun sank low and the moon rose high over the land of Equestria, while the loving pair slumbered on blissfully, fully unaware of anything happening in the whole world.
Sometime deep in the night Gilda's eyes snapped open, pupils shrinking from wide open to tiny pinpricks. That was a knock. A knock on the front door. If it was just one that would be fine, an accident of wind and circumstance. Her muscles tensed as she listened for the sounds of another creature at the door, her breath puffed slowly, washing along Trixie's mane and making the unicorn squirm slightly.
Gilda nearly went back down to sleep, when a knock sounded again, sending her head up suddenly and rousing Trixie from her slumber. “Who dares wake the great and po-” Her further words were muffled by Gilda's talons wrapping around her snout, making her struggle and squirm around, horn lighting briefly before she remembered whose talons those were.
“Shhh! There someone out there. And it's never anyone good at this hour.” Gilda looked to the door with a hard gaze, pupils opening wide again to capture every last mote of light. As there were no windows near it she saw nothing at all, but could at least keep track of any rattle or opening.
The next knock came sooner and was slightly louder. “We do see thy mana traces; thou art within. Allow us admittance to thy domicile.” The voice was muffled by the door, washing out specific details of the owner.
The two females looked to each other, somewhat surprised by the strange speech. Gilda whispered softly, “Don't answer. Whoever it is they sound nuts.”
Another knock, firmer and more resolute. “Trixie Lulamoon, we art here for thee. Thou Roani, allow us admittance to thine home. Refuse us not, the cause is most serious.”
“Get out of here, dweeb! You leave her alone! There's nothing wrong with being a Roani!” Gilda held Trixie protectively against her chest and glared heatedly at the door.
Silence met the physical challenge. Then the voice rang out again. “Aegis of Trixie, cease thy trembling. 'Tis not for violence we come to thy shared home. We deliver important news from the throne.”
Gilda squeezed Trixie tighter, making the mare squeak softly. “Why should we trust you? From what she told me, she's not very liked. I'm an egg-grabber, I know what hate feels like! And why all the 'we' talk? Who else have you got out there? A mob?”
The door glowed with dark purple energy and opened up as though it was not locked at all. The bright moonlight outside revealed the ethereal form of Princess Luna, who grandly stepped across the threshold. “We are alone. This mission be one most private and occult.”
“Woah! Hey! S-stop right there!" Gilda placed herself in front of Trixie, arms outstretched. “Princess? Mission? Occult? I'm not letting you get to her until you explain what's going on.”
Luna strolled up to the large nest, looking grand and neutral. She peered down with a soft smile, her horn glowing and magic reaching out to softly pat Gilda on the head. “Chick of the Bald clan, fear not for thy lover's mortal form. We are here for kinder reasons than thou thinkest. Let us only see thy lover. We promise thee, thy dear heart shall not come to harm.”
Gilda held her position, until she felt a soft shuffling behind her, Trixie working her way around Gilda's body. “Wh-what is it, princess? The great and powerful Trixie has committed no crimes... that she is aware of. She has been only an entertainer, despite what the neeeeeeeeeeeeighsayers in Ponyville might say.” She puffed herself up grandly as possible, to hide her trembling.
“We care not for thine actions in Ponyville or elsewhere. In sooth have we had our own troubles in Ponyville. But let that pass! Thou, Trixie Lulamoon, of Roani birthed in the cradle of Orleans. We have returned, the princess thy clan honored, with faithful obedience, even in face of hurt and harm. We have returned, to lean of thy travails. And we have but one thing that may be said.”
Trixie held her bluff for a silent moment, but deflated slowly before the regality of the night princess. “And what is that?”
Luna dipped her head down, horn becoming parallel with the floor. “We are... sorry.”
An uncomfortable silence filled the room with the heavy feeling of absolute uncertainty. Trixie finally got her jaw to work, looking at the subtly-bowing princess in awe. “S-sorry?”
“Thy kind wert loyal. Loyal unto pain. Thy blood praised our night and our rule, before and after our banishment. Thou hast felt hatred and fear for our sake. And do we know, thy troubles now come of hate for thy blood and not our sake. But our sake birthed the vile slanders that initiated this ire. For all the pain and hate of thy foredams and foresires, we are truly sorry. And hope thou canst accept this sorrow of ours.”
Trixie's only question came amid falling tears, which had started in the middle of the speech, and resulted in Gilda wrapping her in loving arms. “Why me?”
“We did hear of thee as we apologized to another. A landed Roa wedded to a Zaldi stallion. Thy name emerged, and by another means not to be disclosed did we learn of thy ceased wanderings. We may more easily make amends of those that trot not as planets 'cross the face of the celestial sphere. But shall we find them all, and shall we make certain they know, how we thank them for their loyalty. And how we weep for their suffering. We never meant that our banishment should doom any other.”
Trixie couldn't answer. She was too freely weeping, letting out all the pain and sadness from her youth onward. Gilda answered for her, gently rubbing her beak over the unicorn's head. “Thank you... Princess.”
Luna nodded her head and backed away. “We only wish we held sway over thine High King, that we could offer thee freedom in thine own homeland as thou hast in our demesne. Know only that we cheer thy love of this mare, and wish thee long lives, wrap't i'the embrace of love. Fortuna's wheel raise thee high, and ne'er let th' harlot crush thee 'neath her spokes. Opré Roa.” Luna closed the door with her horn's grip and vanished from the room in a flash of magic.
Soft sobs met the sudden silence, occasionally broken with soft shushes and the stroke of talons along smooth pony fur. Small kisses pecked along Trixie's jaw as things went along, and as her tears ebbed. With a small sniffle, she embraced Gilda tighter and quietly repeated the parting statement, really feeling it for the first time in a long time. “Opré Roa...”
