When your song fills the air
All the birds stand and stare
Warm scent of your hair
Lays my heart out to bear…
“Whatcha doing?”
“AUGHNOTHING!” Stygian squawked, nearly leaping out of his skin and sending ink and parchment flying everywhere. He hugged the paper before him to his chest and scowled up into the branches of the tree that he had been sitting beneath.
Above him, Flash Magnus was chortling so hard that he was in danger of falling off the branch that he was sprawled across. “You know, Stygian, when you act like you have something to hide, that makes ponies think that you have something to hide,” he snickered, smirking down at Stygian like a jungle cat looking down upon a field mouse that had wandered into the shade of their tree.
Stygian glared at him and gathered up his quills and ink, casting a quick scouring spell to clean up the ink that was seeping into the grass. “I was…merely working on a new spell,” he stammered, glancing over at the pile of crumpled-up papers next to him.
“Uh-huh,” Flash Magnus smirked, his gaze passing over to the pile of discarded drafts. “Mind if I take a look?”
“No!” Stygian protested, quickly sweeping up the scraps of parchment into his forelegs, trying to corral them all as they tumbled out of his grasp.
“You’ve never hidden your spells from us,” Flash Magnus said, slowly leaning backward until he fell off the branch, deftly backflipping to land on his hooves. “What are you hiding there?” he asked, striding towards Stygian.
“Nothing! I’m not hiding anything!” Stygian cried, backing away while also trying to pick up the crumpled balls that kept falling out of his grasp.
“Really,” Magnus smirked, stepping forward with a smooth, predatory motion.
Stygian gulped. “Magnus, don’t you dare–eep!” he squeaked as Magnus began his attack, his wing rapidly stroking the side of the unicorn’s neck. “S-stop it!” Stygian protested between giggles, trying to squirm away as the pegasus pressed his attack.
One of the parchment balls tumbled from his grasp. Before he could recapture it, Magnus snatched it and flew back out of reach, unfolding it. “No! Magnus, put that down!” Stygian protested, heat rushing across his face as he tried to grab the ill-gotten prize back, but it was too late. He could only watch as Magnus' expression shifted from interest to confusion to amusement. By the time he reached the end, the warrior pegasus was quivering with barely repressed laughter, his eyes mere narrow slits as sputtering giggles escaped his mouth.
“Is…is this a love poem?” he managed to gasp out.
Stygian lowered his head, the heat from his blush radiating from his face like fire from a hearth; the discarded parchment in his hooves all fell to the ground. “It’s that bad, isn’t it?” he mumbled.
Magnus managed to swallow back his laughter. “Well, I’ve seen worse,” he admitted, draping a wing over Stygian’s withers.
Stygian sighed and looked down upon the pile of drafts, rubbing the back of his mane. His gaze slowly turned towards the multicolored sea of flowers stretching out from the eastern walls of the Pillars’ castle. Despite the nip in the air that announced the coming of winter, the flowers were all vibrant and healthy, swaying slightly in the afternoon breeze as their scents wafted through the air.
Magnus followed his gaze, glanced down at the note in his hoof, and smirked. “So, your muse wouldn’t happen to be a certain unicorn with a penchant for flowers, would she?” he asked.
“No!” Stygian sputtered, looking up to give Magnus another glare.
Magnus raised an eyebrow and gave one of his trademark insufferable smirks. “...maybe,” Stygian mumbled, returning his gaze to the ground.
The smirk burned into the back of his head. “...yes.”
He braced himself for the inevitable onslaught of teasing, of commentary about his choice of mares, of how Mistmane was a wise and powerful sorceress and he was simply a plain scribe with plain tastes and plain looks and–
“Well, it’s about time, mate,” Magnus beamed, tussling Stygian’s mane.
“Er, what?” Stygian stammered.
Magnus rolled his eyes with an indulgent smile. “Stygian, I’ve seen the way you look at her when you think her back is turned,” he said.
Stygian felt his blush returning and he looked back down at the ground with a feeble groan. “I’m that transparent, aren’t I?”
“Yes. Yes, you are,” Magnus chortled.
Stygian sighed and looked down at his scrapped attempts at a poem still held in his foreleg, then bundled them up into a single ball and lit it on fire, watching as they were reduced to ashes in seconds. An idea suddenly sparked in his mind. “Magnus, do you think you could write a poem for me?”
Magnus’ smile faded and he shook his head, leading Stygian in a slow walk around the perimeter of the castle. “I can’t do that, Stygian.”
“Why not?” Stygian protested. “We’ve all heard the poems and songs you write for Somnambula.”
He looked up at a specific balcony overhead, the connected window decorated with gossamer curtains that danced slightly in the wind. Magnus looked up at the window as they passed, a thoroughly lovesick smile passing across his face.
“They are good, aren’t they?” he said, pride in his voice. He sighed and returned to seriousness. “But me writing a poem for Mistmane wouldn’t work. I’m not the one who’s in love with her; any words that I write would just be a cheap imitation.” He gently prodded Stygian’s chest. “It has to be from you, mate.”
Stygian sucked on his lower lip. “But…I don’t know where to start. I mean, you saw what I wrote, I…”
“Stygian, start with this,” Magnus interrupted. “What made you fall for her? When did you realize that you were in love with her?”
Stygian was silent for a moment of contemplation. “Well…she’s always been so kind to everycreature, even me,” he admitted. “She’s just so wise and patient, but she can still be fun…remember that time she helped the three of us prank Starswirl by switching around some of his potion ingredients so that he made his beard pink?”
Magnus let out a loud laugh that echoed across the grounds. “I didn’t think she had it in her!” he admitted.
Stygian chuckled and sighed. “But I realized I was in love with her when she and I went to deal with that jiangshi near her home village,” he continued quietly, a smile hovering around his lips at the memory. “Everypony was so scared of that jiangshi, but she came in, so calm and peaceful. She and I stayed up all night in that old, overgrown graveyard to find it and it came up the hill, hopping and sobbing brokenly…I remember how scared I was, I couldn’t even move, but she walked right up to it and spoke to it calmly. She spoke to an undead monster that had already killed five ponies like it was any other pony that just needed help. She led the jiangshi back to her grave and promised to make sure that she and her victims got a proper burial. She and I spent the entire next day cleaning up the graveyard, planting flowers around their graves, and performing the proper rites. She hadn’t slept a wink the previous night, but she was smiling the entire time.”
He closed his eyes, recalling the image of Mistmane carefully sculpting a patch of mulch with her hooves, the sunlight shimmering through her mane as she turned and favored him with a contented smile that lit up her entire face.
“She did all that for a forgotten mare who just wanted to be able to rest peacefully,” Stygian smiled. “That was when I realized that I loved her. That she was the most beautiful mare in the world.”
“That’s beautiful,” Magnus smiled.
“But it doesn’t translate well to a poem,” Stygian admitted with a sigh.
“Well, not everypony is a poet,” Magnus said. “Look, mate, love isn’t a formula or a word problem with a single solution. The one real secret is to be open with her about how you feel.” He gave the smaller unicorn an encouraging pat on the back. “You know her, you know what she likes and how to approach her. You don’t need to make some grand gesture if that’s not something that you’re comfortable with. Just go ahead and talk to her, tell her how you feel.”
Stygian gulped with great difficulty, his throat suddenly tightening like a vise. “I think I’d rather face the Sirens again,” he said.
Magnus let out another loud bark of a laugh. “Well, I suppose I could tell her for you.”
“No!” Stygian squawked.
Magnus sniggered and looked over at the garden. “Well, she’ll be out there by herself later,” he commented. “A cool evening, surrounded by flowers. Hard to find a more romantic setting.”
A low whistle came from overhead. Both stallions looked up to see a creamy orange pegasus on the balcony, fluttering her eyelashes at Magnus before turning and disappearing back through the gossamer curtains.
Magnus waved up at her, then turned back to Stygian with a serious expression. “Take it from me, mate: you regret the things you didn’t do more than the things that you did,” he advised, resting a hoof on Stygian’s shoulder.
Stygian swallowed and nodded solemnly. Magnus smiled and clapped him heartily on the shoulder, drawing a brief wince, then took off and flew through the open window.
Stygian massaged the pain out of his shoulder, listening to the susurrus of the wind dancing through the vibrant flowers. He took a deep breath in, let it out in a sigh, then headed through the open pathway in the hedges.
“Do you ever regret it?”
“Regret what?” Mistmane asked, not looking up from her task of carefully shaping the great tangled mess of vibrant red hair in front of her into a long braid.
“Giving up your beauty,” Meadowbrook clarified, looking at Mistmane in the reflection of the garden’s pond.
Mistmane hesitated for a moment, then her hooves resumed their work, carefully organizing Meadowbrook’s thick locks into a manageable form. “I don’t,” she responded, magically plucking a marigold from a nearby bush and placing it in Meadowbrook’s locks, artfully placed to compliment the other flowers and petals that she had woven into her mane. “Why do you ask?”
“I see the way you react,” Meadowbrook said. “Whenever someone does a double-take when they see you. When other ponies snicker at your back.”
Mistmane paused, then resumed her weaving at a slower pace. “I cannot control what other ponies think,” she replied evenly, magically plucking more flowers and adding them to the braid. “I am not concerned with it.”
Meadowbrook’s reflection gave her an even stare. “The enlightened wise mare act is good and all; gods know, we depend upon your wisdom as much as my potions or Rockhoof’s strength or Magnus’ shield or anything else. But you’re a pony, too, Mistmane. We all hurt.”
Mistmane sighed and closed her eyes for a moment. “I don’t regret sacrificing my beauty,” she stated. “If I had to do it again, I would in a heartbeat.” She was silent for another beat more. “But…you’re right. It does hurt sometimes, to have ponies look at me like…”
She looked at the mare in the mirror, studying the heavy bags beneath her eyes, the sunken jowls, the shriveled lips and withered hooves.
“...like that,” she finished.
Meadowbrook reached back and patted Mistmane’s withered hoof. “Aw, sweetie, I say you’re still one of the prettiest mares out there.”
Mistmane managed a smile at the genuine affection in her tone. “Thank you, Meadowbrook. That means a lot.”
“You don’t need to hide your feelings from any of us, all right?” Meadowbrook smiled at her.
“I will not,” Mistmane said.
“I’m sure you’ll find your prince charming one day,” Meadowbrook said, a knowing smile crossing her face. “Some handsome colt who sees you the way that we all see you.”
Mistmane let out a small chuckle, resisting the urge to roll her eyes. “I’m not concerned with that, either,” she said, winding a wisteria vine around the end of Meadowbrook’s mane as she finished the braid. “There. What do you think?”
Meadowbrook admired herself in the reflection, glowing with happiness at the sight of her flower-decorated braid. “Ain’t I a sight!” she breathed.
“I’m sure Rockhoof will love it,” Mistmane smiled.
“Thanks a bunch, Mistmane!” Meadowbrook said, hugging Mistmane about the barrel.
She started to head for a side gate, then paused and looked back at Mistmane, that enigmatic knowing smile returning. “I know you said that you’re not concerned with prince charmings…but I have a feeling he might be closer than you think.”
“If he comes, he will come,” Mistmane replied placidly. “Now go on, Rockhoof will be coming back soon.”
Meadowbrook giggled and proceeded through the gate, heading down the rolling hills that the Pillars’ castle rested atop.
Mistmane’s smile faded as she watched Meadowbrook crest a hill a third of a mile and plant herself atop a rise overlooking the woods that surrounded the Pillars’ castle. After a few moments, a great bearded stallion emerged from the woods and instantly froze at the sight of the mare, his jaw dropping and his face reddening. Meadowbrook sashayed her way down to Rockhoof, giggling and nuzzling him as his expression shifted to a dopey smile. The two ponies interlocked forelegs and wandered down the hill out of sight.
A sting of envy passed through Mistmane’s chest. For a moment, she recalled the days of her youth, when stallions would fawn over her, when she regularly received marriage proposals from even the most distant parts of her homeland. All gone in a day.
She glanced down at the decaying mare in the still waters of the pond. No, she didn’t regret what she did…but was it so wrong of her to miss those days?
She sighed and wandered down one of the pathways in her garden, idly passing her gaze over the arrays of greens and golds and blues and whites, dancing in the breeze. Normally, their scent would be soothing, washing away any stress and frustration. But now, all the fragrant odors did was seem to taunt her with the taste of something she once had and lost. Mistmane poked listlessly at a bed of lavenders. And what did Meadowbrook mean about prince charming? True, it would be nice to share her life with another stallion like Meadowbrook and Somnambula…but it’s not like there was anypony–
There was a quiet cough behind her.
Mistmane turned to see Stygian approaching slowly, his face red up to the tips of his ears, trembling down to the end of his tail like she was an angry millennia-old dragon.
And he had a vividly red rose in his mouth.
“Here,” he squeaked out, holding the rose out towards her with his eyes closed.
Mistmane blinked, her heart trembling in her chest. “I…is that…?”
Stygian gulped and took in a deep breath. “M-Mistmane, I…I’ve liked you for a long t-t-time, and, um, w-well, I th-think that you’re a b-beautiful mare who’s k-k-kind to everyone and y-you…I..um…you and I-I-I…”
Stygian’s babbling was silenced by the warm touch of a pair of lips brushing against his lips. He squeaked and opened his eyes, his mouth dropping open. The rose tumbled from his lips.
Mistmane caught it in her hoof before it hit the ground and lifted it up, tucking it behind her ear. The scarlet complimented the flowing grays and turquoise of her mane. The smile on her face smoothed away the creases on her face; the joy in her cerulean eyes banished the tired bags.
“Thank you,” Mistmane said, taking Stygian’s hoof.
He let out another, softer squeak and broke into a smile, his blush retreating down to his cheeks. He allowed Mistmane to pull him close and tuck him against her side; she smelled of the earth and flowers, the fragrant perfume eliciting a happy sigh from him.
The wind whispered through the garden as they passed through the winding corridors together, hoof in hoof, the humble scholar and the most beautiful mare in the world.
