The eternal question: what do you get somepony who has everything? Such a quandary has been the bane of so many, but how can it be answered if the pony in question really does have everything, or else wants for nothing which force cannot provide? Even if somehow this impregnable problem is breached, how can a trinket express true feelings? How can it declare an unwavering loyalty to another, unending gratitude to a saviour or the closeness of two spirits? How can it in any way come close to thanking somepony with whom have been shared innumerable magical moments, who has accepted us bare and bared themselves in return? How can a mere present attempt to convey something so precious that words themselves fail in their attempts to do so?

Malignus Extinctor: Veteran Decanus Frumentarius, favoured of the Legion, expert sharpshooter, scourge of the Steel Rangers, the pony who had bested a trio of hellhounds in gladiatorial combat with only his machete, now immobilised by a single question. The statue of what had been a proud zebra was left motionless on a small dusty rise in the centre of the marching camp, his grey and black fur cast stone-like in stillness. Behind him a sea of red tents extended in rows, whilst down below lay a small cluster of traders’ stalls, the habitual rodents trailing in the predators’ wake in hopes of profit, all surrounded by a barbed palisade. Beneath the spiked shell of his armour he could feel his flesh slowly baking in the late afternoon sun, a sheen of sweat soaking his under-barding, made worse with every moment he remained stood there, but impossible to escape from. It was not the heat alone which ailed him, but rather also the simple fact that he was running out of time.

Note to self: never leave something this important to the last minute ever again.

Pausing briefly to wipe a hoof across his brow (careful to avoid the vicious blades riveted to its shoe) Malignus set off, walking the heavy steps into the bustle of the market. "Market" was probably an overestimation of the ragged row of shops on the edge of camp, but there was nowhere else and he was entirely out of options. Most prominent amongst the various salesponies were the arms merchants, flaunting tables covered in all manner of deadly instruments. Blades, battle saddles and bullets, barding and bandoliers: everything that could be desired by your average legionary seeking to prove themselves stood on display.

But you’re shopping for no mere legionnaire.

He stopped at a rug laid out with piled guns, the trader behind it in deep conversation with a praetorian guard about the possibility of attaching shotguns to a gauntlet.

Nope.

He moved on to the next stall, a similar display this time made up of melee implements. The owner looked despondent, there being little call for his stock from customers who mass produced their own machetes and spears. Some of his pieces were interesting, a central bludgeon sporting an added spark battery to electrify its business end for example, but none called out for purchase.

Nope. One boring and two the Blade of the East puts them all to shame.

Internally he could not help but giggle, there being way too much room for innuendo when considering his partner’s favoured weapon to be ignored.

Seriously? Grow up!

Malignus moved on, neither arms nor armour feeling really appropriate or personal enough. This wiped out the potential of the vast majority of the shops, leaving only a few general merchants on the market’s edge left to check out. He was not hopeful as he reached the first vendor, a turquoise unicorn stallion with a group of cross-eyed wolves for a mark on his flank, proudly displaying a collection of random junk.

‘So what y’ looking for?’ the trader asked.

‘Something for…’ Malignus found himself forced into an unsure pause. ‘Something for a special somepony’ he muttered in a near whisper.

‘Pardon?’

‘Something for a special somepony’ he repeated, an embarrassed burn flaring across his cheeks.

‘Sorry, I still didn’t catch that.’

‘Something for a special somepony’ he said for a third time, just exiting his muted tone.

‘What!?’ the trader exclaimed, thankfully not yet drawing any real attention in the busyness of the market.

‘You heard me’ Malignus responded, hot embarrassment giving way to a harder annoyance.

‘Really?’ the seller continued, his face attempting and failing to hold back a grin. ‘I didn’t think you lot were into any of that stuff.’

What the buck!

The frumentarius found himself caught between the fear of discovery and something akin to shock. He was taken aback both by the defiance and its obvious idiocy bearing in mind they stood in the middle of a Legion camp, not to mention his own personal reputation. Neither feeling was particularly pleasant, stoking his anger further. ‘Are you going to help or not?’

‘I mean, you’re all usually playing at being the tough guys.’

The unicorn was actually starting to laugh now and Malignus could feel glances begin to be drawn in their direction, sending his ears flat and back into a curled hunch. ‘Seriously, enough now!’

Seemingly deaf to the protests the salespony’s giggles merely increased. ‘Well, actually I really should have figured, bearing in mind you all parade around in skirts and…’

‘Enough!’

Cleaning the crimson ichor from his hooves as he strode away from the stall, pausing only briefly to dislodge a piece of turquoise mane caught on a hoof-spike, Malignus moved to the next shop in the row. His bloody gaze bore into the fresh vender he now faced, a pale indigo earth mare, simultaneously daring and attacking the possibility of a similar response to the former.

‘H-how can I help you?’ the mare stuttered, trepidation making her stumble over her question.

‘I’m looking for something for my special somepony’ he hissed. ‘It is our one year anniversary. Is there anything amusing about this?’

‘N-no.’

‘Good. It also goes without saying that if you speak of this transaction to anypony I will personally nail you to a cross.’

‘O-okay, well what’s she…’

‘He.’

‘Sorry. What’s he like?’

Malignus froze, the question within the eternal question biting icily in spite of the surrounding desert. What was worse was that he knew the answer, ‘he’s everything’ coming instinctively without a hint of thought, although in reality that was no useful answer at all.

Come on think for buck’s sake!

Then inspiration finally struck him.

It felt as if an immense weight had been lifted from Malignus’ shoulders as his steps brought him between the well marshalled rows of tents, so much so that it took real effort to stop himself from skipping and to instead maintain an imperious gait. The pressure he had been feeling had fallen away, leaving only the excitement of anticipation, looking forward to the evening ahead. The sun was now falling on the horizon, leaving the world still alight but thankfully no longer aflame. Everything was right with the world and he found himself smiling, happily returning each ‘ave’ of those he passed, whilst he ascended the rough steps to the camp’s pinnacle. Soon he stood before his target: the central structure atop a small rough cliff, no mere tent but rather a veritable house of crimson fabric, although lacking the gaudy embellishment which had once adorned its exterior. He halted before the flap and the pair of praetorians, both well known to him, guarding the entrance.

‘Ave Malignus’ the first greeted him, an older greying stallion by the name of Lucius who had been the first Caesar’s head praetorian, the fact he now retained the position under the second being testament to his martial prowess. ‘Lord Caesar is expecting you.’

‘Saluto amicis’ Malignus replied, entering as the cloth was held open for him to pass. His being ‘expected’ sounded official, which was an initial surprise, but for now he retained his quiet inner eagerness as he entered his lord’s pavilion, treading a path flanked on each side by yet more praetorians. Although most of them were friends in some degree, he increasingly found their constant presence more and more of an annoyance. For one thing they seemed entirely unnecessary (particularly bearing in mind the sheer strength of their new charge), but more importantly their ever-presence destroyed any possibility of privacy, which particularly today was an extreme aggravation. The past year of their relationship had been studded by stolen moments, slipping away to give the guards the run-around or holding secret "briefings". He understood the need for secrecy in the necessary brutality of Legion politics and at the same time he would not have exchanged these shared times for anything, but still he almost greedily wanted more.

‘Salve Malignus’ the deep voice he was longing to hear thundered from the map room, summoning him forward.

‘Saluto Lu… Lord Caesar.’

Oh well done!

Malignus mentally face-hoofed at his slipup, feeling doubly stupid for having been caught up in thoughts of secrecy at the time of the informal blunder. Lanius was better at hiding it than he was, the façade of officialdom never once slipping out of place, although the Legate turned Caesar had the aid of being constantly hidden behind a physical shell. The armoured form in question, clad in a suit of steely carapace sculpted to have the look of toned musculature (in poor imitation of the body which lay beneath), stood behind a table spread with maps, surrounded by decani of various rank and evidently was in the closing stages of a protracted briefing.

This isn’t good.

A wave of ‘salutos’ and salutes ran around the assembled ranks and then all bar a couple filed out. Once all had left Lanius finally turned to face him, or rather his masked helmet did, its horned crown and metallic beard bearing no resemblance to the visage beneath. At first he had seen the mask as a wall between them, but now it simply made the image of his love’s face that much more precious, one of the many almost magical things he foalishly treasured.

‘Malignus I sent for you some time ago’ Lanius began, ‘but from your look I’ll assume that my messenger failed to find you.’

This definitely isn’t good.

‘Greatest apologies Lord Caesar’ he managed, mind beginning to reach several depressing conclusions.

‘There has been a change in the campaign which requires our immediate attention…’

No, no, no, no, not today! Why today of all days!?

‘…and as such there has been a change of plans and all other present goals must be regrettably delayed.’

One day, I just wanted one bloody day! Not even that, Mars as my witness, I wanted only an evening! Is that too much to ask!?

Mind in furious turmoil Malignus barely produced his response: ‘Y-yes my lord, what needs to be done?’

‘You will keep your unit in reserve and accompany me…

Alone?

‘…with a small force to an overwatch position.’

Of course!

‘Yes sir!’ Malignus just managed, suppressing a disappointed sigh under a heavy determined tone. In spite of this his hopes still flared somewhat, desperate though it was to think that anything could be salvaged of the evening.

A now sullen Malignus marched at the rear of the small cohort, venting his sad frustration against the ground’s stones. As their trek had dragged on the hopeful possibility of any infinitesimal shred of time being left for them had ebbed from his mind, drunk up by the infinity of his surroundings, leaving only the hatred of everything which stood in the way. He was well aware that it was silly; it was not as if the event was particularly special, but the overall sense of disappointment was hard to ignore. In an attempt to be constructive he tried to focus his feelings into fury, ready to loose upon the profligates they were set to attack. It was a poor consolation however.

Malignus looked to the front of the column, eyes preferring to gaze fondly at its head, gloriously resplendent in the dying light of the day, rather than hatefully downward at absent enemies. To blame his love was impossible, even if a tiny wretched part of him wanted to. ‘Lanius has his duty to think of first, not to mention the weight of the whole Legion on his back, whereas I’m just being selfish’ he thought to himself.

He may have forgotten.

‘How could he have? Besides, he as much as said he was sorry.’

You’re reading quite a lot into ‘goals’ and ‘regrettably delayed’ don’t you think?

Those thoughts hurt, penetrating through every segment of his copiously layered armour to strike directly against his heart. ‘No, you’re overthinking things and becoming paranoid.’ Despite this protest the doubts were now entrenched, leaving him becalmed in dejected doubts. Wrapped up as he was in his own personal concerns Malignus failed to notice that the pony before him had halted, causing him to crash straight into the stallion. Luckily it was Lucius, who accepted his apologies with an amicable look. The cause of the stoppage was not immediately clear, as the praetorians gathered about their leader, leaving only a pair hefting a large ammunition box at his side. Almost as quickly as they had formed together the cluster broke, although a few confused looks were exchanged as they did so, immediately separating into combat units. ‘You may leave the equipment and follow your commanders’ came Lanius’ order, addressing the box-laden couple who stepped into joining the departing force. All the praetorians moved away into the rapidly encroaching darkness of early evening, leaving Malignus and Lanius alone. ‘Shall we continue?’ questioned the Caesar, gesturing up a steep incline towards the peak they had been making for.

Malignus nodded, unsure of these latest developments and therefore still caught in the mode of mere dutiful legionary serving his lord. He took a step towards the abandoned crate, obviously now his burden to bear.

‘No it’s okay, I’ve got it.’

Malignus was left a tad more bemused as Lanius deftly lifted the large box onto his back with ease. ‘Are you sure? It kinda should be my job you know, what if somepony sees?’

‘It’s all fine’ his Caesar reassured him, ‘there’s not much further to go anyway.’

They resumed their progress, this time being able to walk side by side as they made their way to the highest point of the peak. ‘Lord Caesar, to where did you dispatch your bodyguard?’

‘For the last time you don’t have to obey those norms when nopony’s around. You make me feel so guilty every time you call me “lord”’ Lanius scolded, throwing his listener off still further. ‘In answer to your question though: half are setting up a picket line around the cliff, whilst the others are going to cut off any profligates who should choose to retreat this way.’

They continued silently the rest of the way, Malignus caught between roles and feelings, meanwhile being totally unsure of which ones to assume. Part of him happily walked beside his love, appreciating the barest hint of closeness, but at the same time the oppressive official-ness of why they were here still bore down on him. This just left a silence: a hateful quiet which he was desperate to fill with so much and yet it felt entirely inappropriate to do so. Finally they crested the hill, reaching a flat space at its rocky summit. Malignus flipped out the retractable scope from his battle saddle in order to scan the horizon, thankful for something to do, hearing Lanius deposit the crate on the ground as he did so. The sun slipped under the horizon, shade bathing the darkened world as he traced the long winding path of the river far below the cliff face, cutting a rough gouge across the earth. The desert all around had a sharp form of splendour, found in the reddish hues of its terrain and the jaggedness of its stone structures, but a splendour nonetheless, which he allowed himself to appreciate through his sights. He heard the click of the box being opened and further noises as stuff was set on the ground behind him, meanwhile he continued to absently indulge in the view.

‘Happy anniversario Spikey.’

What?

Shocked, Malignus instantly turned sharply around and collided with Lanius’ unmasked lips, which had crept up on him and now pounced. His eyes went wider, surprise totally ruining the kiss, but in drawing away he found a victorious grin on the scar-crossed light brown face of his attacker, brilliant green eyes shining obviously pleased with themselves. His Caesar’s horned helm lay discarded on the corner of a deep red rug, laid impossibly quickly across the small plateau. Beside it the ammunition crate sat open, revealing not an interior crammed with bullets or equipment but with edible delicacies. Pre-war snack cakes, bite-sized fritters formed of maize and instamash and much more filled the container, along with an ice bucket of chilled Sparkle Colas, all looking more like a feast than the picnic it was meant to be. His gaze returned confused to his love, marred visage still glowing triumphantly and now enjoying his continued reactions. ‘You asshole!’ Malignus cried, smile breaking across his own face in realisation as he leapt forward, tackling his much adored deceiver to the ground. They rolled across the floor, both laughing as they mock wrestled for control until inevitably the larger Lanius pinned him down beneath his hooves. Malignus playfully thumped his victor’s chest plate. ‘You’re still an asshole’ he giggled, before reaching up and pulling Lanius into a second far more successful and impassioned kiss.

Malignus was totally content as he lounged on the rug’s soft surface, leaned up against the solid shape of Lanius at his back, both having thrown off their armour. He shuffled in place, nestling deeper into the embrace of his love’s hooves, listening to the sound of his breathing, magnified in the cooled night air. They both had barely dented the picnic, the vast majority of it still filling its disguised box, but they were both comfortably full as they lay silently, simply enjoying being together. For how long they had remained cuddling like this had been quickly lost, marked only as darkness had truly fallen and a fire had been lit, in whose warmth they now sprawled.

‘Sorry’ Lanius broke in, apologising as he ended the settled quiet, ‘but what time is it?’

‘Does it matter?’ Malignus yawned.

‘Yeah, kinda. Again I’m sorry.’

Malignus sighed, not really annoyed by the question, but rather unwilling to make the necessary movements to answer it. Despite his reluctance he sat up, reaching into his cast-off battle saddle’s pouches to withdraw an aged timepiece from within. ‘Five to ten’ he answered after quickly surveying its battered face.

‘Good’ Lanius nodded, sitting up onto his haunches.

‘Why?’

‘You’ll see’ his Caesar winked, giving a knowing smile before turning towards the horizon.

Malignus followed his gaze, returning to sitting at his side, but found nothing as he stared out into the shadows of the evening which had swallowed up every feature of the desert’s landscape. Moments passed and the nothingness persisted, leaving him at a loss for what he was trying to see. Then all at once the view exploded into brightness, the orange fire trails of rockets tearing across it and bursting into further white hot light as they hit unseen targets. Flames spread outward from these impact points climbing upwards in enormous plumes to paint the inky sky and equally dark earth below. Signal flares rose vertically to splatter a rainbow of further colours, whilst almost at the same time the sharp flashes of gunfire opened up on all sides. It was a beautifully intricate painting, formed of an ever-changing flux of chaotic brush strokes, leaving Malignus in a stupefied awe at the scene’s sheer artistry.

‘I couldn’t think what to get you’ Lanius admitted, ‘so I pushed forward our upcoming offensive so I could at the very least give you something beautiful. I’d burn the whole world just to see you smile.’

Smile Malignus did (in spite of the cringeworthy cliché), beaming broadly in the warmth of the fiery glow as his head fell to rest against his love’s shoulder, meanwhile the immense show continued to blaze before them. Having hit a particularly violent crescendo it died down into a crackle of star-like muzzle flashes, punctuating the suns of settled infernos.

‘Happy anniversario’ Lanius whispered, nuzzling against his partner.

Malignus nuzzled back and then reached back into his battle saddle, pulling out a small parcel which he proceeded to pass over.

Opening the neatly wrapped package Lanius drew out a gold pendant hung on an equally golden chain, intricate and yet at the same time robust in its construction. The charm it bore was a circular medallion in the style of a phalera honour badge, etched on the front with the words ‘Victor Cordis Mei’ and on the back with ‘Lux Mea’, both bordered by a wreath of laurels.

‘You once called me that’ Malignus explained, Lanius letting him fasten the jewellery about his neck, ‘but you’re far more deserving of the title. It’s only a small thing but I hope you like it.’

‘Thanks Spikey’ Lanius smiled, the pendant hanging at his chest where it would remain concealed against his heart beneath his armour.

They fell back into each other’s’ embrace, curling around one another as they returned to lying across the crimson rug. ‘I love you’ the pair murmured, eyes closing contentedly as their lips met, silencing the both of them once more. Nothing else mattered as they lay in the fire’s glow, alone in the desert, happily together.