In the Semblance of Happiness
The Return of Princess Nightmare Moon
In the Semblance of Happiness
Blueblood estate.
The enormous consumption of space was said to be the grandest, mightiest, most blatant show of private wealth via terrain known to not only Canterlot, but perhaps the entirety of Equestria – and, in all modesty, it probably deserved that title.
The glimmering lawns were decorated neatly with various pony-shaped hedges (many in the topiary image of the homeowner himself) and well over a dozen sparkling fountains that occasionally summoned magical fish to serenade those who got close enough to the huge golden fence that enclosed the massive area.
Amidst the large expanse of green lay the magnificent mansion itself: a towering, hulking beast of construction that was simultaneously the most wasteful use of resources in all of history and the most beautiful thing any architect would ever see until some six hundred years later. The floor plan, while simple in original concept, had been gradually added onto in various asymmetrical ways, converting what was once an imposing tower-like structure into an almost-maze of corridors and spires, with the actual residence – that of the prince in all his wealth and glory – held aloft in the air via the magic of several thousand antigravity prisms placed with expert precision around the extremities of pretty much everything on the estate. This floating pinnacle of power, while massive enough to hold the entirety of Canterlot if the situation ever arose, often only held no more than a mere dozen ponies: Blueblood, his butler Tombs, three full-time cooks, two just-in-case mages, a sole, sad janitor, the occasional scribe or librarian, and the three maids that never left the premises.
At least, that was what was stated in the contract. Yet on that rather normal day, oddly enough, Tombs couldn’t find head or tail of the third maid, Feather Duster. It simply wasn’t like the most responsible of the trio to miss a clearly scheduled day of work, much less her payday!
Shaking his head, the earth pony slipped the rather generous check into a vest sleeve and began the long walk to the arcade. Perhaps Cheery or Squeaky would be able to point him towards the missing maid…
… And so, two hours later, Tombs let himself sit down and take a little breather, still trying to ignore the aching in his right forehoof, right in the spot where he had smacked Blueblood during his dance lessons earlier that week. The search for Feather hadn’t really gone all that well, as last one who had seen her – Over Worked the janitor – had caught only a glance of the pegasus near the levitator that ferried ponies between the upper and lower portions of Blueblood manor.
With a sigh, the butler climbed into the humming device and began the lengthy descent. He could already tell that his day was going to be a long one.
=-----=-----=-----=-----=
It was raining, right?
Feather Duster twitched her head up and down in what could be described as a jerky nod.
It simply had to be raining. The gray-tinted pegasus didn’t need to look skyward to know this. The dripping drops of water that streamed, bitter and stinging, around her face and down her front in subtle torrents – when in addition to the uncanny blurriness that the entire world seemed to take on - were more than enough to convey the weather.
She shivered. It was cold, too. Not the cold that numbed the mind and slowed the bones, but rather the kind that permeated deep, chilling vital things typically kept warm by a nice wall of fur, muscle, and willpower.
Feather hadn’t felt this cold since she had left the remnants of her house on the hill and into Happy Days. After her parents had passed.
She blinked back the deluge. Maybe it-
No. It was the rain. And the cold. And the tiredness.
The rain that stemmed from the kind clouds. The cold that blossomed from the efforts of the weather ponies. The tiredness that a brisk, steady, two-hour-long trot, a healthy exercise, would likely bring on.
The mare shook her head, feeling a spark of brightness and warmth in her skull that she simply didn’t want right at that moment. She briefly wondered – though not hard enough to ever give her pause in her long walk around the city of the Alicorns – why, exactly, she didn’t want to acknowledge, much less embrace, that little shred of light that filtered through her.
Rationally thinking, the only solution could be that she was on a serious hangover. That was why her head was hung low, eyes unwilling to open more than the smallest of cracks, with that little bundle of mane characteristic for its buoyancy lying flat upon her snout. Or maybe she had been subject to one of Blueblood’s hilariously weak forget-me… spells…
Blueblood.
The word rang through her head, loud and clear, finally giving her aching hooves a small reprieve by way of a small stop.
Though, it didn't really matter. She couldn't go on any further.
Prince Blueblood, any maid's highest paying authority.
Blueblood, the snob.
The stuck-up.
The self-centered jerk!
A pause.
The prince, pursuer of beautiful mares…
Without warning, the rain seemed to fall harder – the smallest of rivulets had decided to form its apex right where the corner of her simple mud-hued eye touched the extremity of her snout.
Blueblood.
What, exactly, was the prince? She could think up a great many things, all without paying much heed to the torrential downpour.
The colt that she had first met at the age of twelve.
The whiny, elder-by-a-year that held the power to make her do as he pleased.
The crazy boy that had crashed the sky-raft that two had had built (one did a majority of the work, but the prince did lend something of a hoof) into Luna’s coi pond, of all things.
By Celestia, she’d have smiled, at the very least, at that memory earlier in that week. Perhaps it was the rain that was causing her to be so gloomy. Or the chill. Or both. Feather honestly couldn't say.
The arrogant brat that got two more maids when one wasn’t enough to keep up with Tombs’ ever-increasing list of things he had to learn.
The horrible coward when it came to spiders.
The conceited teenager that bought absolutely everything that caught his fancy.
... The first pony to buy the orphan girl a birthday present.
In that instant, Feather Duster gave a shudder and fell to her stomach, hooves wrapping protectively around her head, to shield herself from the rain, and the cold, all to no avail. The bitter water kept flowing, and the all-consuming cold kept plowing through her every vein and beating upon her soul.
Why wouldn’t the silverless clouds leave? Why wouldn’t the pointless chill flee? Why was the monotonous aching still assaulting her limbs?
Blueblood, the powerful, pompous prince. She remembered helping him up after he fell and quite nearly dislocated his leg on the new flight of stairs.
Blueblood, the self-loving. She remembered how quick and eager he was to accept every single compliment thrown at him through the years.
Blueblood, the boy who learned how to bake muffins from a mare named Feather.
Blueblood, the stallion who, in pursuit of a mare he hardly knew, nearly died in an idiotic manner.
Blueblood, the pony who wished upon a star for something perfect.
Blueblood… The individual who danced every day, from six to eight, with a simple pegasus named after a cleaning tool.
She blinked.
... But he wasn't really dancing with her, was he?
The rain poured harder.
All he was doing was what he could to love the mare he dreampt of…
A single, insignificant drop of rain slipped by her head. It passed right between the chinks in that suit of armor that every pony always wore over every inch of their being. It dripped through the cracks and slithered through the gaps, until that little drop of water splashed upon something that she didn't want to ever become clean. Visible. Obvious.
The truth.
The truth that infatuation doesn't need to be fair.
The truth that one’s hero, one’s prince in shining armor, doesn't need to do what is noble, or even what is right.
The truth that her heart was breaking.
The truth that Prince Blueblood, royal head of house Blueblood, saw her as nothing more than a maid with the closest shape and height to Twilight Sparkle, the mare of his dreams.
And, of course, the truth that there was no rain. There never was. That there was no cold. There was no strain.
Just the tears, fears and stresses of a mare in love.
And so, sitting amidst the potatoes and lilacs of the Northeastern garden of the estate, where she had returned from her meander around Canterlot, Feather Duster cried.
But she didn’t cry for Blueblood. She never shed a tear for the one being he cared about above all else. She refused to bat an eye for anypony he had ever shown the slightest bit of love towards.
And so, with no one else to dedicate her tears to, Feather Duster cried for herself.
=-----=-----=-----=-----=
No.
No, no, no, no. No...
T.O.M.B.S. was supposed to finish without a hitch. He had made absolutely sure that nopony would get hurt as he went through each careful step, made every wise decision, checked every possibility for error at every occasion!
Nopony was supposed to get hurt! Observation, never interference - that was the whole point!
The butler’s mind screamed to him, all the while his eyes continued to stare through the small shrubbery he was hidden among, almost unblinkingly, at the maid amid the potatoes. In the time Tombs had been standing there in a silent panic, the hoarse sobs had faded in volume and strength, and now she just lay prone, face pressed right up to her hooves, letting out the half-choked cries of one that had simply given up on their strongest dream.
After what felt like an eternity, long after Feater Duster’s well of tears had dried and nothing but dry rasps emerged from her throat, the mare shakily got to her hooves. She stared at nothing in particular for a time, before a single tear dropped from her left eye, plopping onto the ground with an inaudible plink.
Then, slowly, deliberately, the pegasus maid reached a hoof behind her heck and softly unhooked a simple bronze locket. She gazed at the metal oval for but a minute, planted a small kiss on its face, and placed it into one of the little trenches her tears had dug in the soft earth, burying it with a sense of finality that Tombs could hardly bear.
And then she left without a sound, head held low and spirit broken.
=-----=-----=-----=-----=
Tombs sat among the potatoes, the tailcoat of his expensive outfit streaming in the soil. In his right hoof, a humble brown locket, engraved with a crude message that read out ‘Happy Fourteenth Birthday, Feather Duster’.
In his left, he held another little fragment of the past. His past. A white envelope, written upon it the words "To my dearest Vivias" in somewhat clumsy hoofstrokes. The old stallion didn't need to peer inside to see the little rectangular portrait that lay within, or to know every word written upon the tattered parchment that lay beside it.
He placed them back within his vest, careful not to let it slip into the little notebook he always kept it next to. It wasn't pressing - they were simply memories of one who had risked everything she had been given to be with a simple, idiotic peasant boy from a far-off land.
An idiot who didn't see what she held for nearly four years.
An idiot who didn't note the longing in her eyes, the smile whenever he walked into the room, or even the closeness that she would always display, the eagerness to do something, anything, with him.
Tombs nearly sank right to the ground, wanting to do nothing more than scold himself - for the only thing worse than being an idiot, it seemed, was a blind idiot. And that he had been for far too long.
He rose to all fours with a surge of confidence. Perhaps, long ago, he may have succumbed to the guilt, the memories of anguish, and above all, the fear. But he wouldn't let others repeat his mistakes. He wouldn't let anypony else suffer. He wouldn't allow Feather to suffer as only Lyla had.
Never again.
=-----=-----=-----=-----=
"Blueblood!" Barked Tombs with more than a smidgen of anger, yanking the incredibly expensive bedcovers off of the unicorn as only an earth pony of his background could, "You've had your beauty rest - I've specifically mentioned you were exempt from from your horn-fencing, cooking and politics lessons today, but if you think for a moment that you can skip the rest...!"
The prince leapt out of bed in an instant, all too aware of the potential consequences. "No! Of course not! Why, I was just on my way to... to..."
The regal unicorn's mouth hung agape for a moment, a somewhat confused look adorning his face.
"... Magical studies?"
-Wap- went Tombs' hoof on the back of Blueblood's head.
"Your dance lessons, sire!" He hissed venomously, knowing that sleepiness was never a huge inhibitor to his prince's memory, "I highly suggest you change into attire more suitable for this occasion. Perhaps your third gala outfit. It would do nicely in what I have planned for today."
Blueblood stuttered on his words for a second, quickly looking between his pajamas and the fancy dress suit that was lying on the bedside table, still warm from the iron.
"I thought... That the other day would be my final lesson, with the Gala and all..."
So that explains Feather's sudden absence. Thought Tombs, eyes narrowing, I had suspected, but even so, this only means I'm going to work him even harder. A valuable lesson, and all that.
"Absolutely not." He stated firmly, throwing the attire at his employer, "Feather Duster and I have spoken intensively regarding your dance lessons, and have come to the conclusion that, while you have made progress, this shall now be incorporated into your weekly routine."
Blueblood habitually raised a hoof to ask a question. Tombs saw it coming a mile away.
"Your instructor shall be myself. I have more than adequate experience in this field." Tombs answered.
"... And-"
"No. While I may occasionally bring in another pony, be it a mare, stallion, or Twilight Sparkle - if she accepts the invitation - to teach you certain tasks of importance that such a pegasus cannot do, your main partner shall remain Feather Duster."
A pause. Tombs almost looked indecisive.
"During this time, I task you with getting to know her better, be it in or outside of lesson times." He finally announced, nodding once, more to himself that his charge. "For it is the duty of any respectable gentlecolt to respect his dance partner with as much intimacy as respect. The art of dance is a sophisticated one, in the end, and it would be unwise to pass up an opportunity such as this."
Blueblood gave a curt nod. It was not uncommon for his earth pony butler to give him new classes like this, right out of the blue. It happened at least once a month, if not even more frequently.
"Now get to, stallion!" He exclaimed, pointing towards the royal changing room. Yet, as Blueblood scuttled away, his memory flashed back to the little package he had wrapped up and tucked into a vest pocket. With efficiency that would impress even a unicorn, the earth pony plucked the brown parsel - a rectangular box just large enough to hold a simple brown locket - and flipped it over his charge's head, right onto the bundle of clothes he was levitating around with a solid little thump.
Blueblood gazed at him inquisitively, raising an eyebrow in response to the box.
In response, his butler simply gave him the smallest of smiles and the vaguest of replies.
"Your apology," He elaborated, "For making Miss Duster wait an hour in the gym with nopony but myself for company."
The snow-white pony looked quickly at the clock, then quickly at Tombs, and bolted into the changing room without another word.
"We'll expect you down in five minutes, sire." He said, now completely unable to hide the grin that stretched from ear to ear.
And with that, Vivias Tombs turned and descended the spiral stairwell.
Sure, nothing was set in stone. Yet, somehow, some way, he knew that with enough time (along with a bit of not-so-subtle prodding and overtly romantic dance numbers, of course) things would as soon be as right as rain for Feather Duster in the times to come.
Oh, and Blueblood, too. Probably. It wasn't like the good-hearted, bumbling prince managed to snag a special somepony practically overnight, much less Twilight Sparkle.
...Right?
Author's Note
I'd like to thank Aegis Shield, so much, for being such an inspiration and amazing storyteller. May his (your, if you're reading this O_o) pure, amazing talent never cease to amaze :P
(Also, apologies for any BlueLight/TwiBlood[?] inconsistencies, this was written before the conclusion began :v)
