Growing up wasn’t half as glamorous as you’d expect.
One moment you were a child—an unbound dreamer captaining the ship of your own existence, who followed the course set by your capricious heart’s desires. The next, you saw yourself becoming a teenager and debarking to never sail the high seas again. Apparently, there were rules against enjoying life when you’re older. Nobody warned you, nor asked if you were okay with those changes. Your opinion did not matter, because despite having more teenage years behind you than ahead, you still counted as a mere child to some ponies.
Yesterday, your only responsibility was to buddy up with your colleagues and to score good grades. Today your mom was telling you to behave. To be a serious pony. To watch and learn from those important mares and stallions she and dad were always fixating on, because one day you would join them too. You would join them at their parties, discussing serious topics, and involving yourself in the only correct way of life: the life of fancy you were meant to live.
If growing up wasn’t glamorous, then being a Fleur de Lis—being me—was even worse.
“You are slouching,” Riva said as we left the restaurant. “Come now, I will not have my daughters present themselves like that. You have to keep your head high. You have to be straight as a string, and don’t forget to smile, but do so delicately. To be noticed, you don’t need to dry your teeth. Or your… accessories, for that matter.”
“Oui, maman.” I ran my tongue along the metal wire. Bleh. I never got used to the taste. “I can’t wait to take these off.”
“Two months, is that correct?” Ancien laughed heartily. “Operation Overbite is drawing to its glorious conclusion! Just two months and she can shine her teeth all she wants! Haha!”
Riva hissed at him. “Juste ciel, Ancien, curb your enthusiasm. Ponies are watching. And where is Oriflamme—ah, here you are. Very well. Allons-y.”
Those three meant the world to me, but I wouldn’t exactly invite them for a cruise into the unknown. The fact aside that my mother, Rivage d’Azur, wouldn’t set her hoof on anything less than a luxurious yacht, she’d be constantly complaining about the weather being not mild enough, sights being too wild or exotic, or the ponies being too not-Prench. In fact, what was not inherently Prench valued less in her opinion.
My father, Ancien Régime, had a similar mindset. However, where my mother treated with disdain everything that laid outside the borders, he glorified everything within instead, the older and more rooted in tradition, the better. He frequently complained about the current government and secretly yearned for the return of monarchist rule, but despite his respected status in the military he was yet to stage an actual coup. Perhaps for the better. A luxurious yacht or plain sloop, a revolutionist’s daughter would have a hard time traveling abroad by either.
A peach-pastel filly strode over a mound of shoveled snow, her steps full of confidence. Oriflamme, my older sister. She would make a dependable companion on most days, but not on Hearth’s Warming. Not after she completely ruined it a couple of years back.
Such was my family, as proud and traditional as we could get—and in a way, also incredibly boring. Whether it was about art, food or music, we—I mean they—were most fond of the products of their own soil. A limited-time exhibition from Ornithia? Fine, but there’s a glass pyramid with a thousand Prench paintings, and we’ve only discussed half yet. A newly opened Istallian restaurant just around the corner? An acceptable choice, but let’s make sure to find something annoying about the service. Equestrians celebrating Hearth’s Warming, their greatest holiday, with a song? Ah, yes, they’re that kind of ponies…
There was a group of carolers at the nearest intersection, clothed in red-and-green winter vestments and funny hats with fluffy pompons. They didn’t seem to mind the cold as they were smiling brightly, singing one of the songs they brought from their homeland. It was a strange language, much simpler in form compared to Prench, but with an alluring cadence nonetheless.
O wondrous night, the stars are brightly shining
It is the eve of Equestria’s birth
My ears perked up at the foreign words, and immediately my cutie mark compelled me to listen. Although I got it under rather unusual circumstances, I had a grasp on what my purpose in life was: making beauty bloom, like a lily blooms to present itself in all its glory. Wherever I went, I strived to bring that concept to those who weren’t as sensitive to aesthetics as myself, be that through pointing out the beauty in others, appreciating it in things, or even straight showing it myself. Not always vanity-free, admittedly, but hey—one does not argue with what a mirror says.
To be honest, I was yet to come up with a job to go with that talent. I was thinking modeling, but obviously I had to get rid of my braces first. I could probably also use a boost in confidence, too.
Long were the tribes in woesome mistrust fighting
‘Till hope appeared for all who dreamt of mirth
“I know this one.” I realized, trotting up to my parents talking. “Maman! I know this one!”
“…and how was the auction, dear?” Ancien’s question came out on top.
“You will be pleased to hear that I have done my part to preserve our integrity,” Riva replied. “Not for the first time, might I add. Charity or not, I can’t understand why some of our acquaintances even bother themselves with griffon antiquities. It’s not like they’ll be putting them on display, anyway.” She threw a glance at me, the insisting filly prodding her. “Yes, Fleur? What is it?”
“Maman, the song those gentlecolts are singing. I know it!”
My mother’s eyes narrowed into thin slits.
“Is that so? Do tell.”
“We sang winter songs at school, during our last Equestrian class before the break. I mean, the professor actually taught us a different one called Silent Night, but then I went to the library and borrowed myself the entire songbook. I figured it would be a good practice for my pronunciation and vocabulary, plus singing in other languages is fun—even if you mess up the words, as long as you keep the rhythm, it still sounds mostly good.”
“A songbook, you say. Hmm. Let me guess, you know them all by now?”
“I-I know the one they’re singing. Do you want me to teach you?”
“Teach me an Equestrian carol?” Riva snorted a weird mixture of amusement and contempt. “Don’t be ridiculous, Fleur. Why would a mare like me, or like you for that matter, ever need to familiarize herself with these? I appreciate you making an effort to do well in classes, of course, but you do know I find learning such things a waste of time.”
“I wouldn’t presume to waste your time, maman. Therefore, do you think… do you think I could leave you here and go and sing a couple of verses with them?” I asked timidly, but with hope. I just wanted to sing, after all.
Riva scanned the carolers again. Calling her stare a distrustful one would be generous. Sometimes it felt like she had total immunity to things that I was enthusiastic about, as she cut my idea short.
“Out of the question. A great many of ponies, myself included, value the peace and quiet the winter brings. Oh, I adore winter! Less ponies crowding the streets is always good, but those… immigrants publicly raving about their Eve or whatever it’s called… that’s plain disturbing.”
“I don’t think they aim to disturb your peace,” I replied. “They celebrate the founding of their country, so naturally they want to share their joy with others. Don’t we do the same every year?”
“We don’t fly all the way to Canterlot to be obnoxious. Just look at them, grinning like a bunch of rabid monkeys…”
“Permitting it was the maire’s worst decision this quarter,” Ancien agreed. “Bah! Should we retaliate by singing something of ours? I can think of at least a few winter-themed chants. Glacial March, for example, that’s never a bad choice for a skirmish. Or The Regiments Across the Snow. Or the unforgettable Raise the Buried Banner! Say, Riva, you know the lyrics?”
“Ancien! I swear, what is with you and singing today…”
He enjoyed the idea so much he started humming loudly, but another of mother’s trademark hisses brought his performance down a notch.
“Besides, those are all military songs, papa,” Oriflamme pointed out. “I don’t think that’s the kind Fleur is talking about. We probably won’t need to know how’s a spear or shield in Equestrian, and the point is to learn vocabulary that’s actually useful, something to describe the season. Just because your songs have a couple of winter words in them doesn’t mean they describe it well.”
“Well, we certainly don’t need foreigners to describe it to us either,” Ancien grumbled back. “Anyway, when it comes to languages, I don’t think you girls should be focusing on Equestrian. What’s the use of it nowadays?”
“Oh, I don’t know, papa. Knowing your enemy?” Oriflamme quipped, giving me a wink.
“You may be right, Ori!” Ancien’s eyes shined with new zeal. “I think you girls should be focusing on Equestrian. If they launch an invasion, you will be able to gather valuable intelligence. Haha!”
I almost let out a chuckle. Almost. I chose to appear indifferent, as wearing masks always came easily to me. Still, I admired my sister’s self-assurance, that she never hesitated to stood up to anyone, our parents included. She had the guts I lacked, but I would never tell it to her face. It was obvious Oriflamme took my side to try to make amends for the last time, also known as the Santa’s last time, and I wasn’t sure I was going to give her that pleasure yet. I intended to wait until we’re old and wrinkled, or worse—in our thirties.
Riva laughed mockingly.
“An invasion, really? You’re being ridiculous, husband! A country that had one of its rulers banished by the other is hardly a threat,” she said. “Bof. Let’s change the subject. This entire linguistic deliberation is leading nowhere. What you should be focusing on—and that goes for both of you—are things that will help you in life. For example, you want to be an interesting partner for discussion, say when you’re at a cocktail party. The more you learn about our local art, society, or politics, the better. These can make a conversation.”
“With whom?” Oriflamme asked. “Ponies your age?”
“Mind the tone, young lady!” Riva scolded her. “I mean your future husbands, obviously. You can charm a stallion with a pretty face, but that alone won’t make him stay if he finds out you’re a dimwit. Consider it: if you want a regarded, noble, Prench gentlecolt to truly notice you—”
“What if we don’t?” Oriflamme interrupted, a tinge of uncertainty in her voice.
Funnily enough, I knew my sister’s reason for asking such a provocative question. That reason had a shape of a colt, wore layers of flour and scent of fresh baguettes, and lead a simple life at a certain undisclosed bakery. When it came to Oriflamme, he also had a name: Secretly Sneaking Out On Thursday Nights.
“Then you’ll end up a cranky lady like your Aunt Jaune-Jonquil. Do you want to become an old mare, filled with regret for not listening to her mother? No. I didn’t think so.” Riva’s gloat was evident in her stride. She thought of herself a successful mare, and there were times I couldn’t stand it. “Actually, let’s talk about boyfriends. While I won’t count on a mere crush to last, schools are excellent proving grounds for learning to separate the wheat from the chaff. Oriflamme? Anyone special on the horizon?”
“Uh—like, me—I mean… uh…”
I noticed my sister’s cheeks go rose. Her guts came at a price of being hopeless when it came to wearing masks. Worse—her maybe-boyfriend was hardly a regarded gentlecolt, at least not by our mother’s standards, and it would be better if he remained a secret for the time being. Then again, was anyone up to those standards? Perhaps some outstanding government official, a true fancy-pants, handsome, noble, intelligent, well-connected, caring…
No, there were no such ponies anywhere in the world.
A malicious thought crossed my mind: it was a perfect setting to finally get even for the Santa Hooves disappointment. To tell, or not to tell? I rummaged the thought for a brief moment, then heaved a sigh. True, winter gifts were now completely bereaved of magic because of Oriflamme’s lack of empathy, but the point of Hearth’s Warming was to be good rather than bad. Even though I was not technically celebrating it—not in that household, I wasn’t—I could tell it had something special to it. Something both magical and beautiful which stopped me from giving away the Thursday Nights’ secret.
Open your hearts
O hear our unity’s calling
We were sisters. That had to count for something, right? At the very least, we shared a common… adversary. I appreciated many of my mother’s traits, and she was an inspiration, in a twisted way, but growing up came with something your parents couldn’t give you: the innate need to rebel. And by the stars, it was stirring inside me. I just wanted to sing! So what it was a carol, even if an Equestrian one? It was beautiful in its own way, and I felt I should participate, deep inside. Was that too much to ask?
O night for one tribe
O night to make amends
She wasn’t going to let me sing? Well, I wasn’t going to let her stick her muzzle into Oriflamme’s private matters.
“No, but what if I don’t?” I quickly drew the attention to myself alone. “What Ori probably meant was, what if I find myself a husband who’s not Prench?”
“Let’s do our best to avoid such an eventuality.” My mother dismissed me and turned back to Oriflamme. “Why, you are blushing! Look, Ancien, she’s blushing! So there is a dandy colt in your life. Tell us. Tell us all.”
I took a bold step between my parents and my lost for words sister.
“Please listen to me, maman. In the interest of me finding a proper companion, I need you to explain something to me. I can choose who to approach on a cocktail party, with all the suave talk I can, but I can’t choose who will approach me. And I definitely cannot choose the pony I will fall in love with, now can I? Perhaps they will turn out to be a foreigner. Perhaps even Equestrian.”
“Fleur de Lis. I am not in the mood for your nonsense.”
I had to give it to her, she was doing an excellent job of making herself perfectly hearable without raising her voice. It was a little scary, to tell the truth, but I wasn’t going to back down easily.
The spirit of a teenage rebel took over me. I thought I was doing a really good job being a prim and proper filly, but come on, it was no longer about anyone’s boyfriend, about singing carols in public, or even about being tolerant with foreign stuff. It was about principles. I was the captain of my own life! I was allowed to make some rules!
“Why is everything that’s mine a nonsense to you?” I burst out. “It’s always the same old story with you, maman. Can’t you see the world is bigger than just our neighborhood? Well, guess what: it’s Hearth’s Warming time and I, for one, would love to learn what’s so special about it instead of dismissing it on a whim. Deal with it. Maybe I want to learn languages and travel, maybe find my future beyond the border, but you’re keeping me on a leash. I can’t even sing a stupid carol, that’s how controlling you are!”
Riva was furious, I could tell, but she kept a straight face. That mask-wearing thing? It ran in the family.
“First, keep your voice down. Ponies are watching. Second: controlling, me? Well, my sincerest apologies, young lady, for trying to set your life on a proper path!” she hissed angrily. “One day, when you’re more mature, you’ll understand how important it is to fit the society you are born into.”
“Oh, so until that day comes, I can go back and sing with those gentlecolts?”
“For the last time, Fleur, no means no!”
“Because what? Because they’re Equestrian?”
Riva stomped her hoof. “This has NOTHING to do with them being Equestrian or not. This is a public place and there will be no disturbing the peace of our fine neighbors!” she shouted, disturbing the peace of everyone’s fine neighbors. “Why can’t you be more like your sister, or at least try to be every once in a while? She can live her life as an elegant filly without being bothered by all those foreign distractions you’re letting in. I swear, one more word about this Hearth’s Warming rubbish and I’m going to lose it!”
“You’re going to lose a lot more if you keep that up, maman…” I whispered bitterly.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“If I marry a foreigner, what are you going to do, you’ll disavow me? Deny my existence?”
“Maybe I will!”
“Maman, Fleur, you’re embarrassing yourselves!” Oriflamme stepped up with a plea. “Papa! Do something!”
The moment my father heaved a sigh, I knew he wasn’t going to intervene on my behalf. He was part of the problem, he and his nauseating traditionalism, nationalism even. I was on the verge of my tears, confused and surprised how quickly the matter had escalated, but I couldn’t muster enough mental strength to stand against two adults at once.
Maybe I will!
My mother’s words cut deep, tearing the sails that had carried me through my youthful years. I wanted to believe that she really wanted what was best for me, but at the same time, how could she know what’s best if she didn’t care enough to know… me?
“Listen to your mother, Fleur,” Ancien said. “We are Prench, and we are proud to be so. There will be no silly caroling. Do you understand?”
Perhaps… perhaps it really was time to let my childish dreams go and drop the anchor in reality…
“Do you understand?” Riva echoed on a stern note.
“Yes, maman…”
“Very well.” She straightened her attire and fixed a disheveled strand of her mane—because that’s what really mattered to her. How she was perceived by the society, with little regard to her closest ones. “We shall head home now. In silence.”
Oriflamme opened her mouth to say something, but I shook my head. I wasn’t in the mood. I slouched and shambled, following my parents’ hoofsteps like a good daughter. I just wanted to go home, lock myself in my room... and cry.
Another year, another winter disappointment. Growing into a mare wasn’t getting any easier, or any more glamorous the older I got, and the joyful mystery of Hearth’s Warming remained elusive to me. Out of my reach. Even forbidden as of now, apparently.
My family and I—we didn’t decorate the tree because it wasn’t a Prench tradition to do so. We discarded the character of Santa Hooves and replaced it with a banal ritual of ponies exchanging items with other ponies, barely nodding to each other while we were doing so. We didn’t bake special treats, we didn’t sing carols, we didn’t do nothing to make those couple of days stand out in any way. And it wasn’t just us—it was our neighbors, the city, and everypony.
I could no longer stand it. Was it an Equestrian holiday? Yes. Was it only for Equestrians? I did not believe so.
Although we left the carolers and their song far behind us, their beautiful, mirthful cheer reverberated in my heart, easily trumping over the gloom my mother filled it with. My decision was made. One day, I would set sail and travel beyond the border, to a place where my boring Prench life would change forever. Where different ponies lived soaking in different cultures, celebrating different holidays and experiences. Where I could finally arrange my life according to my own schedule and not someone else’s.
I was a mare with a plan now, and by the stars I was going to make my dreams come true even if it meant planning every single aspect of my life. Step one: get rid of those braces. Step two: find a career that involves traveling. Step three: include Equestria in the flight plan.
A flame of old, the weary pon’es rejoice
For yonder south a new land is born
Step four: freedom.