//------------------------------// // Freedom // Story: Love Letters for a Girl I Hate // by GaPJaxie //------------------------------// “You’re viewing the problem too holistically,” Twilight said, speaking slowly and deliberately. She lowered her muzzle to the table before her, indicating the scrolls, books, and numerous tokens there. They were the tools of spell design, and she knew them all well, the tip of her muzzle highlighting those most relevant spaces. “You must separate the components. Handle them each individually.” “Forgive me, friend, but I do not see how that is possible,” J’zargo replied, shaking his head. His voice was faster than hers, and when he gestured at the table, the motion was broad and sweeping. “J’zargo has seen your magic and he accepts that your theories work, but he does not understand them. To handle all the parts separately, it is as to build every floor of a house apart from the others, and only then seek to fit them together. Worse, your plans for the different floors seem to contradict each other. Surely it cannot be so.” Twilight frowned as J’zargo spoke, and the conversation lapsed into silence as she considered her answer at length. The two spellcasters sat in the Arch-Mage’s quarters at the College of Winterhold, facing eachother around a table. Though the room was cavernous and grand, they sat close together, enveloped inside the small garden that defined the center of the room. Ever since coming into the title of Arch-Mage and inheriting the quarters, Twilight had expanded the garden considerably, adding a small trail down the middle, and two stone benches. It had gone from being a decorative fixture to a living space where two ponies—or a pony and a cat—could sit and be surrounded by green. Twilight had taken the bench further from the exit, which sat under the flowering branches of a small dogwood tree. She looked the picturesque role of a unicorn spellcaster—her horn adorned with a silver cap and her body wrapped in a royal purple robe. The formal mages’ attire hid her cutie mark, replacing it with a silk flank-cloth that showed the seal of the College at Winterhold. The entire outfit made her seem quite regal, and in another context it might have been imposing, but her posture was relaxed and informal. She sat along the length of the bench, resting on her belly, her forehooves folded in front of her. Her face was creased in concentration as she looked at the table, and silently sought a way to express herself. On the other bench sat J’zargo. He was a Khajiit—the feline counterpart to the greater pony species. Like ponies, they were four-legged creatures, more given to using their teeth than their limbs to manipulate objects, and like ponies they had three subspecies: tigers, mountain lions, and wild cats. It was to this last group that J’zargo belonged, and like many of his race, he had a somewhat wiry look about him. He was small, springy, and just a hair unkempt, wrapped in powder-blue apprentices robes that were going grey at the edges. As he waited for Twilight to speak, he leaned down to lick the underside of his paw, running it through his fur. “Perhaps,” he suggested, when the silence grew overlong, “we could review the spell components again? That may clarify the misunderstanding.” “No,” Twilight finally said. “It’s not about the components. Your conceptual understanding is flawed. It’s not like creating multiple floors of a building, it’s like...” She struggled for the words. “Creating multiple buildings. Like having many houses, and choosing which one to live in when. The key is...” Again she paused. Her ears tilted back just so, and she bit her lip. “The key is time.” “Time?” J’zargo asked. He sat up, but his expression did not change—ears alert, eyes focused, and mouth draw straight across his face. “Yes,” Twilight nodded. “Your conception of time is flawed. You’re viewing events as happening simultaneously, when they actually occur discreetly. The order of events is only added post-fact.” “That is an interesting way of viewing things,” J’zargo said, his tail twitching behind him. “So, to your thinking, a candle decides it wishes to burst into flames, and I decide I wish to light a match, and it is only after we are both done that I decide the match lit the candle?” His tone contained no outright skepticism, and was even moderately curious, but Twilight shied away from him anyway, turning her head down to look at the bushes around them. “No. No. Matches do light candles. It’s more...” She taped the bench with her hooves, a few seconds of silence passing between them. “Tiid Klo Ul. Only not.” “Helpful,” J’zargo said, uttering the word with a flat, dry intonation. Twilight’s blush deepened. “Sorry,” she said, before giving a small shake of her head. “I know I’m only confusing you more. It’s kind of hard to explain to mortals.” “Mortals,” J’zargo said, in much the same tone he’d used a moment ago. “Okay, stop that!” Twilight said, flicking her tail back and forth sharply. She still did not raise her head to him, keeping her gaze fixed on the bench. “It’s not funny.” “It was your choice of words, not J’zargo’s.” His words were still flat and dry, but after he finished speaking, he leaned forward on his bench. His expression changed, ears folding back as his mouth turned down into a slight frown. “Does that imply that you are not mortal?” “You know very well I’m not,” Twilight huffed. “I know what a sage or a scholar would tell me, yes,” he agreed, his tone more intent. “But that is not what J’zargo was asking.” Twilight shifted uncomfortably in place. Her body swayed on the bench as she tried and failed to find a comfortable place to rest her rear hooves, her forehooves tapping together gently. Her ears folded back, and she lifted her head to J’zargo, only to lower it back to the floor. A faint sound that was not a word emerged from her throat, and it was several long seconds before she could raise her head to him again. Finally though, she looked him in the eye and spoke. “Yes. I’m a dragon.” “Mmmm,” was all J’zargo said in reply, showing no more expression than a slight twitch in his whiskers. Twilight snorted, and a tension came to her eyes. “I’m not going to start burning villages or carrying off maidens or anything,” she snapped, voice rising as her tone turned defensive. “J’zargo said no such thing.” He raised his paw as though to signal surrender. “But he does wonder what prompted this change.” “J’zargo, I...” Twilight licked her lips. “How would you feel if I cheated on you? Um... if we were romantic, I mean. It’s a hypothetical.” “Bad I suppose!?” Lidya shouted, the incredulity in her tone barely audible over the distinctive scream of destruction magic. Lightning and fire arced all around them, heating the air until it seemed to ripple and filling it with the pungent smell of ozone.The bandits at Uttering Hills Camp had turned out to have considerably more unicorns than they had anticipated, and the pair were pinned down behind a boulder. “Is now really the time for this!?” “Huh?” Twilight looked up from the ground. As Thane of Whiterun and leader of the Companions, she wore the heaviest of armor—a veritable wall of steel that even her earth pony housecarl would struggle to lift. All that could be seen of her were her hooves and the tip of her horn where it emerged from her helmet. Even her eyes were hidden, as the gleam of sunlight reflecting off her helmet obscured the narrow eye-slit. “Oh, right. Sorry.” Hefting her tower shield in hand, Twilight rose from behind the rock she and Lidya used as cover. She was immediately struck by wave after wave of spells and arrows—jets of fire that splashed against the steel plate, and shafts of wood that shattered against her shield. She ignored the blasts, and reached back to her saddlebags to retrieve her weapons. On her left side hung the mighty Axe of Whiterun—a brutal two-headed chopping weapon with a shaft as long as Twilight. On her right hung a collection of throwing axes, and it was for these she reached first. “We’ve got her now! Move around the rock and—” The bandit leader’s last command went unfinished as the thrown axe struck him between the eyes. He crumpled like a puppet with its strings cut, and the ponies on either side of him scrambled for cover. Undaunted by their leaders demise, the bandits continued to fire, and by sheer weight of numbers began to have an effect. Arrows found the weak points in Twilight’s armor, driving deep into her shoulders and chest. Fire found its way through her joints and the gap between her helmet and chestplate, producing the pungent smell of burning flesh. But Twilight showed no pain, and with perfect drill-yard form, threw two more axes. The first caught an advancing warrior in the knee, while the second sheared away a spellcaster’s horn, sending two more foes to the ground. Then, without so much as a grunt, Twilight calmly sat back down behind the rock. “What the...?” Lidya asked, staring wide-eyed at the unicorn beside her. Lidya had always considered herself tough. She was small for an earth pony, but her cutie mark was a shield and a one-ton weight, and her tan coat often served to conceal the many bruises she’d gained brawling as a child. She knew she could take a blow, and the armored chestplate and saddle she wore came very naturally to her, but the extent of her friend’s wounds left her gaping. Twilight’s large shield was a scorched and battered mess, and her armor was penetrated in multiple places by arrows or blast marks. The smell of melted skin and burning fur was pungent around her, along with the tang of blood. It was obvious at a glance that her injuries were critical, but she showed not the slightest trace of distress. Finally, when she recovered enough to speak, Lidya blurted out, “Are you insane!? You could have been killed!” “I’ll be fine. I have potions,” Twilight said, calmly removing them from her bag one at a time. “They’ll be on us any second!” Lidya shouted, looking up into the sky. There were a few pegasai amongst the bandits, and she did not doubt that they would soon take to the air in an attempt to support their mages. But the skies above them were clear. “They won’t attack until I’m ready,” Twilight said, her tone suddenly tense, even upset. Lidya ignored her Thane, who had clearly gone mad, and readied herself for the melee assault. But it didn’t come. Twilight drank her potions slowly and deliberately, taking a few good seconds for each one. It would only have taken the bandits half that time to cover the distance to the rock, but Lidya soon realized Twilight was on her third potion. Not only had the assault never come, but the pattern of spells ricocheting off the rock had assumed a familiar quality—a regular cadence. Hesitantly, Lidya lifted her head towards the edge of the rock, and then dared to look out and peek. She saw the raiders braced for a charge, their pegasi about to take to the air for a two-pronged assault. But they didn’t take to the air. They didn’t attack. They just sat there as their mages blasted away, like they were waiting for some unseen signal. “What’s happening?” Lidya asked breathlessly, falling back behind the rock and sitting next to Twilight. “They won’t attack until I’m ready,” Twilight repeated. To Lidya’s shock, Twilight pulled a bowl of oats out of her bag and started absentmindedly eating them one at a time as she ripped the arrows out of her shoulders. Everything about Twilight’s stance was unhurried, even indifferent, and when Lidya checked on the raiders again, but they hadn’t budged an inch since she last looked. “Did you enchant them or something?” Lidya asked. She’d never seen Twilight use much magic, apart from basic healing spells. The Thane of Whiterun was legendary as a proud warrior, not a sniveling spellcaster. “I didn’t do anything to them, no,” Twilight said, not looking up from her oats. “Then why are they just standing there!?” Lidya demanded. “Because I am a dragon.” Her tone was dry, perhaps even a little bitter. “Lidya, I’m sorry, I know this is difficult for you, but could you answer my first question please?” “I...” Lidya turned her head back to the edge of the rock, watching the spells roar and crackle there. Then she turned to Twilight, and saw the intense frown on her Thane’s face. “Yes, Thane. Yes. As you wish.” She forced herself to swallow. “I suppose if we were romantic and you cheated on me I would feel bad. That’s what cheating is about, isn’t it?” Twilight nodded, and munched on another oat. She swallowed. “What if we were apart for a long time?” she asked. “What if there were places you couldn't go? And I was away?” “I... guess I’d understand?” Lidya asked, ears folded tight against her head. The crash of the impacting spells had repeated so many times she could hear the regular pattern, and her ears were starting to adjust to the noise. “Twilight, what brings this up now?” “What if I made you do something you didn’t want to do?” Twilight asked, ignoring Lidya’s question. “I am sworn to carry your burdens,” Lidya replied automatically. But a frown appeared on her own face, and she turned to look at the rock. “Make me do something how?” “I don’t have the words for it. It’s a ship getting pulled by currents it can’t see. Or a bird being guided by the wind. It’s Gol Hah Dov. Only not.” Twilight looked down at her bowl, and ate another oat. “It’s a stallion who travels far and has a mare in every land he visits, knowing they shall never meet each other. Can’t meet each other. And even if they did, they would not perceive that they had been wronged.” “Because they don’t mind their stallion sleeping around, or...?” Lidya asked. She looked to the rock again, and then back to her Thane, but Twilight still did not answer. “The thing you did to them. Whatever it is. Have you ever done it to me?” “Yes,” Twilight said, looking at the grass and not meeting Lidya’s eyes. “When?” Lidya asked, her voice hesitant and her expression uncertain. “All the time. Ever since I realized I could.” Twilight’s voice was tight, and her gaze remained resolutely fixed on the ground. Lidya swallowed. “Why?” “Because I wanted to be a warrior,” Twilight hissed, keeping her voice low as she and Kharjo snuck across the rooftops of Solitude. His paws were silent on the shingles and thatch, while she had wrapped her hooves in thick cloth. Each was nearly invisible in the darkness—Twilight was wrapped in a silky black fabric, while Kharjo’s dark fur served him well. Though one was Khajiit and one was a pony, they moved with equal grace across the roofs, until they came to the window of the house the thieves guild had marked for them. “And because I wanted to be a mage. And because I wanted to be with you too. And why should I have to choose?” “Keep your voice down,” Kharjo hissed, checking the streets below as Twilight levitated out her lockpicks. She adeptly opened the window, and the two slipped inside. They were in a small study of some kind, lit only by the moonlight from the window. The house was cold and quiet, the owner evidently still out for the night. “Or what?” Twilight snorted. Without bothering to look at what she was taking, she levitated the entire contents of the room’s little shelf and shoved them into her bag, every item on and in the desk quickly following. “I’ll get caught. Or I won’t. And I won’t. I have options.” “Twilight...” Kharjo stepped up behind her, laying a paw on her shoulder. “I’m starting to worry about you. You sound unwell. We all want many things. That is a part of life for us all.” “Wanting it? Yes.” Twilight shoved the next shelf worth of possessions into her bag. Kharjo frowned as he looked at Twilight’s back, and realized her little saddle pack was somehow holding considerably more items than should have fit inside it. “But having it? That’s where we’re different. That’s where we’re different you and me. That’s why you’re a mortal and I’m a dragon.” Twilight’s voice was tight. “Because we both want many things, but you? You have to pick. I can have it all.” “You are becoming irrational,” Kharjo said, his voice quiet and soothing. He reached up to pull back her mane, gently resting his paw against the side of her neck. “This isn’t like you.” “How would you know?” Twilight whirled in place to face him, shrugging his paw off her shoulder. “You don’t know me. The whole time you’ve known me, I’ve been a thief. A low-life looking to practice her sneaking. I’ve helped you break the law. I’ve helped you deal Moon Sugar. I’ve cheated and I’ve stolen for money I didn’t need. You never knew me when I was a studious arch-mage. You never knew me when I was a valiant warrior!” “Twilight, you have never...” Kharjo paused, the words dying in his throat as his brow furrowed. He narrowed his eyes without looking at anything in particular, and his paw slowly returned to the floor. “Never been an arch-mage? Never been a warrior?” Twilight snorted. “Say it. Say I haven't been. Only you can’t, can you? Because you remember that I am those things. I am the arch-mage of Winterhold. And the great Thane! But that doesn’t make any sense because you also remember I’m a thief and a member of the Dark Brotherhood.” “Keep... keep your voice down,” Kharjo said, but his voice was uncertain, and he found himself backing away from Twilight. “The guards will hear.” “So what if they do?” Twilight snorted. “Twilight, what’s happening to you?” Kharjo asked, his tail bumping into the wall behind him. “I’m realizing what I am, Kharjo. I’m realizing I get it both ways.” She advanced on him, her eyes wide and her motions wild. “That’s why I’m always the hero. When a mare comes to me, pleading for help? Why shouldn’t I help her. A mortal would have to make a choice. Risk and danger, can I help her, what will it cost me, but not me. I can do it every time. And if I don’t feel like it, what does it matter? She’ll wait for me. She’ll wait forever.” Twilight snorted, and a jet of smoke escaped her nose. Kharjo scrambled to the side and away, his rear paws finding an unsteady purchase as he tried to retreat out the window. “Twilight, listen to yourself.” he urged. “This isn’t the pony I met. This is madness!” “I’m not a pony, Kharjo! I’m a dragon. I’m the child of Akatosh! I’m a god in mortal flesh!” she shouted, her voice wild and emotional. “I’m the Mul Qua Diiv. Only not. Space and time bow before me! And I get what I want. I get what I want every time.” “Okay...” Kharjo said, nodding slowly. The window was perilously close to the edge of the roof, and already his tail was hanging out over empty space. He kept his motions slow, and his voice calm as he asked. “And what do you want?” “I want you to stop hating me for it!” she bellowed, her voice cracking. Tears came to her eyes, and she stamped her hoof on the floor. “It’s not my fault. It’s not my fault I’m the way I am. I just... I like you, Kharjo! I like you all and I want to get to know you and I want to see how your stories work out. I want to see how my story works out. I want to make Skyrim right! And I can’t do that the way a mortal should! I have to go and... and come back and—” “If you must go,” Kharjo said, his slow but firm intonations rolling over Twilight’s more hurried speech. “Then Khajiit will be here when you return.” “You don’t understand,” Twilight snapped. “I understand perfectly.” Kharjo stepped down from the window, and slowly moved forward to stand in front of her. He took a breath, considered his next move, and then lifted his paw to his face. He licked its underside, reached up, and carefully pushed Twilight’s mane back behind her ear. The smell of cat spit made Twilight’s muzzle scrunch up, and Kharjo chuckled quietly, though his expression remained serious. “Twilight, earlier, you asked how I would feel if you cheated on me. But you are not my wife. And even if you were, I would not wish to own you. You are my friend and companion. I travel with you, but there will be adventures you have without me.” “I’m not just going on little side missions, Kharjo. I have another life,” Twilight insisted. “Khajiit lead many lives.” Kharjo said, lowering his voice as a gentle smile appearing on his face. “And so do dragons it seems. Before Kharjo was a warrior, he was a messenger, and before that he turned hay. Once, he was romantic, once he was womanizer. Your lives just have fewer years between them.” “And, what, you’re just going to ignore that I do other things?” Twilight demanded, her tail tucked in beneath her. “No,” Kharjo said, his smile gradually growing to a grin. “Khajiit will demand many stories.” “But... why?” Twilight asked, looking up at Lidya. Stuck behind the rock, the two of them were crammed in nearly muzzle to muzzle, and Lidya could clearly see the tears pooling in Twilight’s eyes. “Because, my Thane, I like you. Despite your best efforts.” The little earth pony gave a small roll of her eyes, and wrapped a foreleg around Twilight’s shoulder. “I like it when you’re around, but I don’t expect you to be around always. I like it when I can make you happy, but I don’t resent it when somepony else does. You see?” “And it’s that simple?” Twilight asked. “Of course!” J’zargo squeezed Twilight’s shoulder and held her close. “Why should it be complicated? It is friendship, not magic.” Twilight sniffled, smiled, and then leaned forward to pull her companion into a hug.