Part I
Unfortunate. That’s me in a nutshell, I suppose. Nothing in my life ever really goes my way, and, for the most part, never really had before. From the day I was born, the world just seemed to want to crush all my hopes and dreams, and any chance of being rich, famous, or even loved. Heck, my mere existence was just a curse by itself.
Let me explain: Twenty-three years ago- that’s... when I was born, on Hearts and Hooves Day -a pegasus mare named Wishwell gave birth to my sorry soul while she was in a griffon town on a diplomatic stay. She named me Feather, after my dad. But the thing is, my dad was a griffon. Not just any griffon, mind you. Feather the Brave was the son of the thane of the region my mom was staying in. My dad had power, wealth, charm, and according to my mom he was a very kind soul, despite everything.
You see, hippogriffs like me- we look like griffons, but we have the lower half of a pony instead of a large cat -are forbidden among the griffon clans, especially where noble blood is involved. Mom and I were banished from the Griffon Empire by the thane to preserve the good name of my dad’s family. Some grandfather, huh?
We moved back to mom’s house in Baltimare, Equestria when I was barely a year old. While Baltimare is a bit of an uppity city, the ponies there were a great deal more accepting of me than any griffon was, and I went through the normal school system when I was old enough. Of course, my pure white plumage, yellow beak, and cerulean pony-coat do stick out a little, and I would come to attract the attention of some less-tolerant ponies. I would be constantly bullied, and I learned my lessons in the back of the classroom away from everypony else, thanking my powerful avian eyesight.
After I graduated by the skin of my... beak? ...I didn’t know what to do next. Everypony in my class had their cutie marks, and they were off fulfilling their destinies. Being a hippogriff, I didn’t have my talent branded on my flanks, so I had to find my calling the hard way. But fate wasn’t so kind to me, and I didn’t have a job until I was twenty years old, when some messenger service decided that, with my stronger wings and reasonable short-range airspeed, I would be a good choice for running jobs within the city limits. For three years, I ran around town, delivering this and sending that.
That’s where this story begins.
It all started when the office got a call from one of the uptown families; one of the five noble houses that live in Baltimare. They, as per usual, sent me to go answer it because of my ‘exotic nature.’ To be honest, I think my boss just likes to send me because the nobles give the hardest jobs.
Anyway, the call had come from Lady Amaryllis, the young heiress of the unicorn house, Petal. I had been to their place before, and I think I like it most out of the uptown houses. It looks like someone took a castle out of Canterlot and dropped it into the rolling hills of Baltimare, with tall spires, alabaster walls, and arched doorways. I’m not an architecture fanatic, but I could appreciate the beauty of the Petal House.
“Right in here, messenger,” the butler pony said, motioning to one of the many bedroom doors. His tone had this air of condescending that could make all but the proudest feel like unappreciated garbage, and I was anything but proud. I hate butlers. “Her Ladyship has requested to dictate her message in private. Do not dally.” I hate that word, too. ‘Dally.’ It’s a prissy perversion of ‘delay.’
“Thanks,” I grunted, entering the room. Amaryllis Petal’s room was a rather neutral room, with several green tones and no over-embellished woodwork. Several paintings of flowers hung around the room, yet it didn’t feel all too girly. An unfinished painting rested on an easel, telling me that she didn’t just commission some artist for the paintings.
Amaryllis herself stood at her window, staring out. She was a considerably pretty mare, with a natural-looking curled emerald mane, signature of her family, silver-grey eyes, and a light-blue coat that was groomed to impeccable condition. She wore no clothes at the time, so I could see her flower-and-paintbrush cutie mark. From my past experiences with her, she was much less stuck-up than her relatives, and respectful of all ponies, no matter their standing. Perhaps the only noble I can tolerate.
I cleared my throat to make my presence known. “Messenger Feather, at your service, milady,” I said, reciting the old mantra with more honesty than usual.
“Oh!” Amaryllis gasped, jumping at my announcement. I guessed that she must have been very deep in thought, with the way she was staring into the distance. “Mr. Feather, I’m sorry! I didn’t hear you come in!”
I thought not. “It’s okay,” I replied, retrieving a roll of parchment and a quill from my satchel. “You wanted to dictate a message?”
Amaryllis opened her mouth, but closed it again. She quickly went to the window and magicked the curtains closed, then trotted hastily over to me. “You are to tell nopony of what you hear in this room,” she said in a hushed voice. “Especially not my family.”
I was surprised by this sudden change in her behavior. She was normally a very free spirit, not one for deception or secrets. “Of... course,” I spoke hesitantly. “You have my honor as a... as a messenger... and a hippogriff.” What else did I have, honestly?
The heiress looked me deep in the eye for a few moments. Then, apparently deciding I was being honest, she turned away and nodded. “Thank you.”
“Uh... anytime.” It was the best I could come up with.
Amaryllis took a deep breath in and looked to be collecting her thoughts. I readied my quill. After a pregnant pause, she began to dictate:
”My adoration unknowing,
For several months I have been quietly observing you, watching all you do. You, who do not look down on those less fortunate, have shown to have compassionate heart and passionate soul, and who appreciates the small beauties in the world, like walks in the garden or looking at birds as they build their nest. You, who holds art in high regard and dances slowly with himself to the soft music of an orchestral quintuplet at a social gathering.
I often wonder to myself if you remember the past year’s gathering of the noble families of Baltimare. I do. I remember finding you among the rose garden of the House Rock-Feller’s estate, gently caressing a white flower. Do you remember when we spoke of gardening and flowers? Do you remember the sketch I drew of that white flower? Do you still keep it near yourself in memory of me?
For months I have kept my heart’s desire silent, but I cannot no longer. It is like a bird in a cage, waiting to be set free. My passion for you cannot be caged any longer. The feelings in my heart, which I have harbored and kept close to my breast, must be made known to you, the object of my inner affections. Please, do not think less of me for this confession. If it was not meant to be, I ask only for honesty and a swift reply.
Your expectant admirer,
Amaryllis Petal”
When she finished speaking, I had to look back down at what I wrote and reread it, if only to believe it myself. Amaryllis had a crush on some noble guy she met at a party, and now she was writing to him to confess her love. It was so... cheesy. I expected somepony with her artistic taste to be a little more creative with how she confessed her feelings.
Oh well. No skin off my flank.
After she reviewed my dictation with a very particular standard, Amaryllis rolled the parchment up and sealed it with an unmarked wax stamp. “You have very fluid hoofwriting,” she commented to me, as if she was pretending that I hadn’t heard what she told me, which was most likely her greatest secret. “I suppose your talons make writing very easy.”
“Definitely doesn’t make it any more difficult,” I replied, going along with her ruse.
Making certain her confession of love was securely sealed, the heiress levitated the scroll in front of my beak. “Please deliver this with all haste to Sir Alabaster Marble at his family’s estate,” she said as I took the scroll in my talons. “It is imperative that this letter’s existence is known only to you, I, and he.”
I stared at the scroll for a few moments, trying to compute what I had just heard. “Alabaster Marble?” I asked, a bit surprised. “As in the Alabaster Marble of--”
“Hush!” she exclaimed, shooing me out the door. Being levitated out the door against my will wasn’t really something I had expected her to be capable of, physically or morally. Apparently I was wrong. “Be swift and discrete! Do not dally!”
I hate that word.
For as long as I have been a messenger that frequented the nobility of Baltimare, there was one estate in uptown for which the title of ‘house’ was a long stretch of what it appeared to be. The Marble House looked more like a fortress made entirely of the namesake rock. Every piece of the structure was cubic or rectangular in shape, giving the whole place a feeling of lethal sharpness. Even the columns were more like pyramidal obelisks. It didn’t help that there were scarcely any colors beside white, black, or a stony grey-green. It was a cold, polished fortress of pomp.
The predominantly earth pony Marble family owned the several marble quarries outside town, and was only a recent addition to the circle of nobility after their ancestors struck it rich some two hundred years ago. Who knew quarrying marble was such a profitable trade? They were respectable enough, with deep roots in earth pony tradition and manners. Despite this, I cringe every time I get sent to them on a call. It usually gets me stuck lugging a huge hundred-pound boulder of marble to the other side of town.
As a servant pony led me down the halls, I became subconscious about the odd sound of my steps echoing down them, the alternating click-clop, click-clop, click-clop of my talons and hooves now louder than I’d like it to be. Though he didn’t say it out loud, I could tell the servant was getting irritated by it.
In an effort to take my mind off the noise, I thought back to Amaryllis Petal’s secret letter. It was only after she told me its recipient that I understood why she wanted it quiet. From what I heard around work and running messages, the houses of Petal and Marble had a blood rivalry dating back generations. Apparently, a predecessor of the Marble line had built a quarry very near one of the Petal greenhouses, and the plants there became unhealthy and discolored. What started as a closed legal dispute grew over the ages into an internal hatred between the families. Local guards had broken-up more than a few drunken brawls between the youth of either family over the years.
So when I say Amaryllis’ letter could wreck havoc, I actually mean, ‘get the heck outta Baltimare before all Tartarus breaks loose.’ I shuddered inwardly at the chaos that a forbidden love between ponies from two of the most powerful families in town would inevitably cause. Servant’s houses would be torched, there would be skirmishes between the hired guards, bystanders would be hurt, Baltimare’s local economy would crash...
Basically, really bad stuff would happen.
Now imagine me delivering that small little scroll that started it all. I didn’t want that on my conscience; it would ruin me. At best, I wouldn’t get another job unless I changed my name and skipped town. Call me conceited, but I would love to keep my job security.
“You will find him in here,” the servant said, breaking my train of panicked thought. He was a little more polite than the Petal butler, but his voice still had that snooty tone to it. I wondered if the nobility rubs off on their underlings. “Brevity is strongly encouraged.”
“I’ll keep it in mind,” I told him, entering the room. Alabaster Marble’s bedchamber was shockingly different from the rest of the estate. Instead of the blacks, whites, and occasional greens, the rectangle walls were made up of horizontal bands of varying tan and bluish marble, giving it a more relaxed feel than the halls outside. There was a great lack of any framed pictures or paintings, but several sculptures cluttered the edges of the room, varying in size and subject from a small hoof-sized vase to the full-scale profile of a dancing mare. Like Amaryllis’ unfinished painting, Alabaster had a half-completed chunk of marble in the corner that looked roughly like the start of some kind of bird.
I found Alabaster Marble at his desk, scribbling on some kind of document. The earth pony hier lived up to his name: his coat was a sleek white, flecked sparsely with barely-noticeable streaks of light gray. His jet-black mane was slicked back and his cropped tail was painstakingly groomed, giving him an elitist look. True to his art, his cutie mark showed a chisel carving a heart from a block of marble. He turned and looked at me with eyes that were a strikingly similar silver color to Amaryllis’ irises.
With a shrug, he turned back to whatever he was working on. “My chief assistant tells me you have a message for me to receive privately,” he stated. I couldn’t really tell what his tone of voice was supposed to be; either apathy or cool recognition. “I’m sure it’s probably some wealthy and paranoid benefactor that’s too scared of his competitors to even leave his penthouse.”
I liked him already. Amaryllis Petal sure had good taste in stallions. “That’s correct, Sir Marble,” I said, removing the scroll from my saddlebags. I walked over to give it to him, but paused near his desk. While I hurriedly decided what to do with the scandalous- and potentially town-breaking -missive, he continued to work on the document with no readable expression. “The, uh, sender of this message would prefer that its existence stay between you, herself, and I.”
Alabaster held out his hoof to receive the missive. With no small amount of hesitation on my part, I deposited Amaryllis’ letter into the hooves of its recipient. The earth pony heir crushed the wax seal between his hoof and the table and unrolled the scroll, setting two paperweights on either end to keep it open as he read.
I kept watching his face as his silvery eyes traced each line carefully, analyzing each word. It was very uncanny to watch, as his expression held its stoic impassiveness throughout the letter. I couldn’t tell if he was either contemplating the content of the letter or deciding how best to kill me. If my luck was any indication, probably both.
Finally, he looked up from the letter at me, his face still unreadable. “This is not some kind of joke, I hope,” he said plainly.
“I’m just the messenger, sir.” Please don’t shoot me. “It is actually from Lady Amaryllis, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
Alabaster didn’t answer right away. He gave another look at the letter, then got up from his seat and trotted over to the solitary window. From his third-story bedchamber, I could just make out a few spires of the Petal House down the road. The earth pony sat there for the longest time, staring out into the distance. At this point, I began to feel very awkward about being there, and wondered if I should leave him alone to his thoughts.
“Thank you, messenger,” Alabaster said after a few minutes. “You must be courageous to deliver this to me. You risked discovery by either of our families and, if that were to happen, it would mean your inexorable demise.”
Wow. Way to make a guy feel recognized. “You’re... too kind, sir,” I replied.
Alabaster turned away from the window to face me. “What is your name, hippogriff?”
“Feather. Just Feather.” Would you also like my date of birth so you can carve it on a marble gravestone?
“Feather. A fitting name for a messenger.” Alabaster nodded, trotting over to the unfinished sculpture and picking up a chisel. “Return to me in this room exactly one hour after high noon. I’ll have my personal servant escort you here. You are dismissed.”
The earth pony was so concise with his directions, it took me a few seconds to realize that he had excused me. I gave a short bow and turned to leave. “Have good day, sir,” I said as I left.
“Call me Alabaster,” he said as the door closed behind me.
It was just after sunset by the time I reported back to the office and got home. My place isn’t all that great; it’s a second-story apartment I rented after I moved out of my mom’s place so she didn’t have to support both of us. White walls, no decorations, and one bathroom for either of the two bedrooms. There was not even a window to look outside.
I shared the rent with my flatmate, a pegasus mare named Copper Chimes. She owned a shop down the road that sold metal lawn ornaments alongside her namesake windchimes, nuch like the one shown on her flank.. Chimes wasn’t particularly extraordinary with a sandy coat and auburn mane, tail, and eyes; but she had a sweet disposition and internal energy that one could admire in a pony. I never really considered our relationship anything other than ‘that pony/hippogriff who helps pay the rent,’ though she never fails to be an ear to gripe to about work.
At the time I entered the apartment, Chimes was already busy cooking dinner, humming an upbeat tune. “Good evening, Feather,” she chirped as I flung my saddlebags into my room and flopped onto the sofa with a loud grunt. “Rough day at work, then?”
“You could say that,” I grumbled back. I let my wings stretch out and fall limp on either side of my body. A delicious smell from the kitchen played at my nostrils. “What’re you making, Chimes?”
There was a click as she turned the stove heat down. “A new recipe for vegetable stew,” Chimes replied. “Mrs. Cloudshine traded it to me yesterday for one of those little tin butterponies she adores so much. She’s always such a cheery pony, that Cloudshine.”
I made a noise of acknowledgement as she continued cooking. My mind had wandered back to the conundrum of the two nobles, Amaryllis and Alabaster. Amaryllis was perhaps more brave or more brainless than I had thought her to be, putting her forbidden feelings down on parchment and risking discovery by either the Petals or Marbles, both of whom would never have such a thing. Alabaster remained a mystery to me. His face seemed incapable of any emotional display and he spoke in such a robotic tone, which made me wonder how he reacted to the letter. He called me courageous for delivering it, but was it meant sincerely or mockingly?
“Stew’s ready, Feather,” Chimes’ voice brought me out of my thoughts. The smell from the kitchen was almost irresistible. If the stew tasted as good as it smelled, I was in for a well-deserved treat.
As we ate, Chimes noticed instantly that something was wrong: I wasn’t complaining about my ‘rough day’ I mentioned earlier. After some thought and hesitation on my part, I told her about the call from Amaryllis Petal, her controversial love-letter, and my encounter with Alabaster Marble. Like always, Chimes stayed quiet and let me speak my piece, being an attentive audience to the woes of my day. Maybe it was me getting my worries off my chest or the food in my stomach, but talking to my flatmate about my problems made me feel better.
It was also nice to have a second perspective about it. “So are you going back tomorrow?” Chimes asked.
“I have too, or I lose my job,” I told her. It was unfortunately true. I couldn’t deny a call because of an assumption of danger based on street rumors. Even if those rumors were true. “If somepony says I need to return, I have to. Office policy. Potential loss of life is no excuse for the boss.”
Chimes tapped her hoof thoughtfully. “I don’t know what to tell you, Feather,” she said honestly in a soft voice, putting her hoof over my talons. “I’m sure you’ll think of something. Maybe it’ll all resolve itself.”
“I hope so...” I replied. “But I don’t think I’m that fortunate.”