Candle woke up in the middle of a storm.
The rainy season was coming; apparently, it had arrived, and it was hard for Candle to muster up any strong feelings about it. He rolled over onto his side, so that he could consider the opulent room.
It was as he had left it; it must have been some time ago that he fell asleep, because it was dark now, and the storm raged in the night outside his broken window. No one had come to light the lamps in his room, probably because he was still locked in. There was still some glass on the floor, and the cold wind whistled through the broken window. There was rain outside, he could hear it pattering into the green garden; he was very nearly deafened by the sudden crash of lightning, and the boom of the thunder after it. The storm must be on top of them, it sounded so close.
There was a panicked scream in the hallway, and the sound of running hooves; Candle realized, suddenly, that the storm must really be on top of them, since another crash of thunder followed almost immediately after.
There was a whinnying cry of rage from somewhere outside; with the bolt of lightning came a bolt of recognition.
“HE’S MINE!” Crack, boom! The thunder and lightning alternated outside. “YOU CAN’T HAVE HIM!”
Zeffir! That was his voice! Candle ran to the window, pressing his face against the iron scrollwork to try and look around. “Zeffir!” There he was, Luna bless him! Standing out in the garden, soaked to the bone in the rain! He reared and pawed at the air like a zebra possessed, and his eyes flashed almost as brightly as the lightning overhead. “Zeffir!” Candle shouted again, trying to get a hoof through the elegant scrollwork to wave to him, but failed.
Zeffir must have heard him, because he dropped to all four hooves and ran to his side. “Candle?”
“Zeffir! Thank Luna you found me!” The tears were back again, but then he supposed they had never left. “Zeffir, he won’t let me leave, I’m locked in -”
“It’s alright, Candle, it’s alright,” Zeffir whuffed, a little gaspy; his eyes still looked a little wild, and Candle felt the sudden overwhelming desire to hug him. “Back away from the window.”
A little nervous of what Zeffir had in mind, Candle backed up obediently, and covered his ears for good measure. With another enraged whinny, Zeffir kicked up onto his hind legs, and lightning struck the iron bars. Once! Twice! Three times the lightning pounded into the window frame, and Candle cowered against the heavy door, waiting for the booming of the thunder to end. The rain sizzled where it landed on the hot iron, and after a moment, he saw a heavy tree branch wedge into the edge of it. With a groan of metal giving away, the scrollwork fell away, revealing Zeffir’s face in the window.
“Let’s go,” Zeffir called quietly, and Candle would have sworn that he saw a stray spark dance between his pointed ears.
Candle paused only long enough to grab his saddlebags and toss them out to Zeffir, and soon he followed, landing on the lush lawn in a tangle of gauzy fabric. He didn’t even bother to untangle himself; once he was on all four hooves, he ran.
Once he felt dirt under his hooves instead of grass, Candle stopped to look back; behind them, the mansion burned, flames licking ever higher into the storm. Even the pounding rain couldn’t stop its inexorable demise, and as they watched, several more zebra servants streamed out of the front door, galloping off into the horizon.
Zeffir stood for a long moment, and considered the storm. It was localized almost entirely over the mansion; where they stood, on the boundary of the property, was dry. “I can stop it,” Zeffir said quietly, almost apologetically.
Candle’s eyes were cold as he watched the mansion burn; he pictured Frilly Pantaloons sitting at his opulent table, crying about a golden plate being thrown at his head. “Let it burn,” Candle whispered.
They stood there for a long time; now and again, Zeffir would rear, and bring another bolt of lightning crashing down onto the building. They stayed until they saw the building reduced to rubble, which hardly took any time at all. At last, once he was satisfied, Candle turned away. Zeffir followed him, and the pair walked in silence for a long time, following the same packed-dirt road as they had before.
It was dark again; Candle couldn’t see when the ruined estate vanished onto the horizon behind him, but he could imagine it. And once they lost sight of its ruined remains, something released in him, and he suddenly felt very, very tired.
“Let’s stop for the night,” Zeffir said at last, coming to a slow halt. He left the road, and guided the silent Candle to another acacia tree. This one was as broad as the last, and Zeffir took over the setup of their camp. This time, he grabbed some dry tinder, some fallen branches and grass, and started a fire. Candle supposed he should have been surprised when Zeffir produced a little spark from his hoof to start the fire, but instead he felt nothing.
Zeffir let him sit in his silence for a long time, but once the fire was large and roaring in front of them, he turned to look at Candle. “Do you want my help getting out of that - that?”
Candle nodded, and sat silently as Zeffir fiddled with the laces of the drape, the many layers, the delicate clasp of the necklace. All of these he set aside, until he came to the pinchy earrings. They hurt by now, aching and sore after a long night of wear.
“Oh,” Zeffir said softly. “I didn’t know you had pierced ears.”
Zeffir’s hoof flew to his ear; when he tugged, the pinchy earring didn’t move. Instead, his ear moved with it.
“I d - I don’t have - pierced ears,” Candle whispered, and at last, his stoic silence gave way to sobbing. He didn’t care who heard, he didn’t care that Zeffir looked alarmed, he didn’t even care if a whole pack of yeens came now and ate them; it wasn’t fair. He had come so far, and had endured so much; too much. Too much! His sobbing rose to full-throated wailing at the unfairness of it all, and it was then that Zeffir wrapped his forelegs around him, gathering him close to his chest.
“It’s all right, Candle,” Zeffir whispered, and his hoof was gentle where he pressed against Candle’s wavy mane, guiding his face down against his neck.
“It’s not!” Candle sobbed, and pushed at him; but it was a petulant sort of protest, and he soon melted into him, clutching Zeffir as tightly as he could. “It’s not fair! It’s not r-right! I never asked - I never asked for any of this!”
“I know,” Zeffir whispered, and his voice was twisted with pain, too. His hoof was gentle where it smoothed down against his mane, and he kept stroking him; Candle realized a moment later than he was smoothing out the waves, brushing them loose.
He was quiet for a long time, stroking Candle, letting his neck be soaked by his husband’s tears. When he spoke again, his voice was low. “I am so sorry, Candle. I never meant to bring you this heartache. I only wished to … to not be alone.”
Candle snuffled out a shuddery sound, then lifted his head, just enough so that he could see Zeffir’s face. Zeffir, usually so stoic, so in control in every frightening situation, looked just as distraught as Candle. Perhaps it was the rain that wetted his face; perhaps it was something else.
“I’m sorry, Zeffir,” Candle whispered, and smoothed his bottom lip out with his teeth, trying to stop its trembling. “I wish I could be the - the husband that you deserve. You deserve someone brave, and kind, because - because you are so brave and kind.”
Zeffir shook his head gently, and gave Candle’s mane one last stroke. “You are also brave and kind, Candle.”
“No! No I’m not!” Candle cried out, and dragged his foreleg across his eyes, trying to banish the tears. “I - I wake up every day, and I wish it was over before it even begins! I’m scared, all the time! I’m scared of - of my mom not loving me anymore! Of my dad being disappointed in me, because of who I love! I wake up, and I hate where I am! I want to go back to sleep, and - and wake up somewhere else! Or not wake up at all!” Candle was crying again, fat tears rolling down his shimmered cheeks. “I’m afraid of everything, all the time! I’m afraid of things I love - I’m afraid of flying! I’m afraid of - I’m afraid of being married, even to someone I like! Someone I really like!”
Zeffir’s brows lifted, despite his sympathy.
“And I wanted to run away from it, to come to a place where no one knew me, where I didn’t have to feel that way ever again - and it followed me! It followed me even here, even to - even to a beautiful land, with wonderful ponies, with - with the best friend I’ve had in a long time! With someone who I care about, and I’m still - I’m still so scared! I can’t outrun myself!”
Zeffir gathered Candle sharply against his chest, and whispered to him insistently. “I will stand between you and whatever frightens you, Candle. I am your husband. That is my duty.”
“But - but you won’t be,” Candle sniffled, “not after we - after we find the shaman.” The word ‘divorce’ was too painful to say, just then.
“You will always be my husband,” Zeffir said quietly, “in my heart. For as long as I walk the savannah, I will carry you with me.”
Candle held his breath, then sobbed. “I want - I want to be yours, Zeffir. But not - not like this. I want - I want you to - want me to be yours. To be chosen.”
Candle could hear the soft exhale of the zebra’s breath in his mane, and he cradled him all the closer. “I will always want you, Candle. And I want your happiness, above all.”
Candle was quiet for a beat, and then snuffled into his neck as he nodded. “I want … I want your happiness, too. You deserve to be happy, Zeffir, so much.”
Zeffir smiled, and lifted his head a little; the sun was rising on the horizon, turning the sky a lilac-grey. The color of his husband’s coat. “Then that is very lucky for me, Zeffir murmured, “for it is you who make me happy, Candle. So right now… I am happy.”
And in that moment, despite the tears and the dissipating storm clouds, they both were.