Lost
I’ve always suspected flames have artistic aspirations.
You could see it in the campfire. It had talent and enthusiasm, but it lacked experience and subtlety. When left with the sole responsibility of lighting up a place it painted everything in warm, flickering colors. It kept the mind on the center of the scene and cast deep shadows on everything else a bit further from itself. Very atmospheric, I admit that, but sometimes at the expense of clarity.
For example, I couldn't really figure out the exact coat and mane color of the mare sitting on the other side of my campfire, and that was a bit of a shame.
What I could see were her eyes, twinkling and shining. Curious, intense eyes. Eyes locked on me.
"See something you like, miss Mare?"
I think I blushed. I blushed more back then. I learned to not do it. It's useful to avoid it in politics, and with age comes the realization that more often than not embarrassment is a waste of time. But that is now. Back then I was easier to befuddle.
The truth was, I indeed liked what I saw, but that wasn't the reason for my staring. So I deflected, and at the time, considered I was being very smooth. I looked away, cleared my throat, and said, "No, it's… I was curious about what a mare was doing out here, in the middle of nowhere. I mean, I appreciate the company, but, uhm—"
The mare smiled. There was a certain amount of cockiness there, something that would usually rub me the wrong way, but on her, it added to the mystery. "Heh, I could ask the same. I was here, out in the woods, testing out some field equipment, and then I see a fledgling campfire. A sad little thing, ready to die, cared for by a desperate mare clearly out of her element."
I told you how nowadays I'm aware that embarrassment is a wasteful condition, didn't I? Even after all these years I can't help but feel a bit of shame. She had been right, obviously. I had fought with the campfire for what felt like hours, and it still had been a sad reflection of my life. Unsteady, pale, ready to become a little heap of embers lacking the courage to flare up.
I looked away, finding something terribly interesting in the darkness surrounding my little camp. "I thought a little vacation would be nice. Something away from the hustle of life." I picked up a stick and poked the fire now happily dancing on the logs. I felt like it was mocking me. The pokes were well deserved. "I…Thank you for your help, miss Yearling. I'm not really used to this, I pass far more time in an office than outside, but…" The log shifted a bit under my petty pokes of revenge. Little embers danced up to the sky. I sighed. "I needed some time away and alone."
"Oh, I didn't want to disturb. I can go back to my camp, it's not too far away."
I shook my head and dared a glance to the other side of the fire. She was still standing.
I considered the situation carefully. On the one hoof, I decided that I needed to be away from my usual environment, from work, from friends. There was some wisdom I could get from solitude and self-reflection in the woods. It had worked in the past, in some measure, when I had lost myself for a day in nature, so I hoped a night under the stars could help me get answers. What I had gotten for now had been an afternoon of fighting with a tent, fighting with wood, fighting with rocks under my tent, fighting with a raccoon, and fighting with a fire which had seemed dead-set on never burning properly. That probably had been more than enough solitary contemplation. I looked up and said, "You’re not disturbing me, don't worry. I think I could do with some company. And I have to thank you for saving me from a night without fire. Can I offer some tea?"
"I… Ah, why not? Yes, I would like some tea, thank you." She went around the fire and sat down at my side as I pulled out the thermos.
I filled a cup and passed it to her, occasionally glancing at her vest full of pockets. With my newly acquired hindsight, I saw at least half a dozen things right there that could have been very useful during my less than stellar setting up of my camp. "If I'm not being too indiscrete, miss Yearling, you seem very well-equipped and knowledgeable about surviving in the wilderness."
She sniffed at the cup, then sipped from it. "I hope so, otherwise I don't think I'm gonna finish my doctorate."
I used the precious moments I had while pouring my own cup to wrack my brain about what kind of academic path required one to survive in the middle of nowhere. I had heard that the philosophy departments could be brutal, and that competition in the economic sciences had nothing to envy to a round in the city council, but nothing seemed to really match. "Wha–"
"Action archeology." I looked up from my tea to miss Yearling. She was grinning. "I get that question a lot. Yes, it's a thing, no, it's not very well known. It was a lot more popular some time ago, though. And, well, I tried classical archeology and it kinda had me restless all the time, so I decided to take it in a new direction. I'm preparing for the last stretch of it. Done all the book-related research, and so I have to prepare for an expedition. I thought about having a test-run to avoid ugly surprises."
"Oh, that explains it." I drank a bit of tea and wondered how I could broach the subject that I had no idea what that meant.
"You're asking yourself what I really do, right?"
And it was starting to become a bit uncanny. I looked over to miss Yearling. The grin was still there, maybe it had even become a bit wider. "You seem to be quite good at guessing what I'm thinking."
She chuckled, then said, "It's almost always the same questions. Nopony seems to even know there's something like action archeology. I heard about it just because Prof. Potter Urn saw me getting restless and remembered he heard something about it years ago. Took me a while and a lot of research to find the faculty at all." She gulped down the rest of the cup and leaned back, eyes up to the sky. "When I found it I knew I had to do exactly that. Action archeology is all about traveling around the world, finding ancient secrets, kicking dangerous monsters in the face, dodging traps, transporting artifacts back. It’s like an adventure novel, but real."
When Cloudy Quartz had left me without even saying goodbye, it hadn't been to kick monsters, and yet the underlying feeling was almost the same. I was grateful that I had a tin cup and not a ceramic one. A small dent meant I still could use it, and shards were harder to explain. Looking back I have to commend my self-control in not crumpling it, though. I let my eyes wander over the darkness, not trusting myself to look her in the face. "That sounds…That seems to be a very interesting kind of life. Exciting. Running away from the now, always seeking something new."
There was a pause before she answered. "Do you wanna do something like that?"
Did I? It was a good question, one with which I had wrestled for quite a while. Did I want to simply run away to see new things? Not a worry in the world, to Tartarus with the consequences, the only way was forward and there was no time for anything else, not even the time to say goodbye?
No, that wasn't right. That was unfair to Cloudy Quartz. She had to run to catch the train, there was no time. She had left everything familiar behind because that was the point, move forward, look around, see what one wanted to do with their life. I knew it when I kissed her, and in the end she came back, even if only to try and be a good friend.
And yet it hurt. It hurt a lot when she left, it hurt when she came back, it hurt when I set out for this stupid trip.
I turned to take the thermos and to calm down. It wouldn't do any good for me to be such a mess for my guest.
When I turned back there was a smile on my lips. I poured some tea for myself and then offered the thermos to miss Yearling for a top-up. "No, I don't think I want to do that. I'm but a humble bureaucrat very much bound to my office and my town. Which probably explains why this whole camp thing was a disaster before you came along."
She refilled her cup while she kept glancing at me. "Thank you. So, if you don't want to do that, then what the guy that left you do? I mean, it's kinda obvious that it upsets you."
It seemed I had to practice my everything-is-fine smile a bit more. I needed to learn to keep it on too, because at that moment I couldn't. I could feel the corners of my mouth fall. "It's not–"
It wasn't what? I had come here to try something different, to get out of the funk I was in.
Miss Yearling sat there and looked at me, calm, sipping tea. The sandy coat, her black and gray mane, and her toned muscles in the flickering light of the fire came together in what had more in common with a painting than with reality. The sound of the forest added to a dreamlike atmosphere. One which begged for stories.
I sighed. "Alright, miss Yearling–"
"Please, just A.K. is fine."
"Very well, A.K., you can drop the miss too if you want. By the way, A.K., what does it stand for?"
For the first time, I think I saw her blush and look away. It was just for a brief moment, before she cleared her throat and, with the assuredness I had come to expect from her in the brief time I had known her, said, "I prefer not to tell. Maybe another time. But we were talking about you."
"We were, weren't we?" I inhaled the smell of tea, it helped calm me down. "It's not an exciting story. It is, to be honest, quite dull and pedestrian."
A.K. waved her hoof dismissively. "All stories are good and worth being heard. We can work on delivery later."
"Will you tell me your story then?"
She nodded. "That seems a fair exchange."
"Then let me start by pointing out that it wasn't a guy, it was a mare. A wonderful creature that came out of nowhere and tumbled into my life…"
History has a weight all of its own. Ancient places, even when kept in perfect condition, tend to press down on you with countless stories and untold lifetimes they observed. It's as if it permeates the walls. It reminds me a bit about my grandmother's kitchen and the wooden beams in there, smoked with the preparation of tens of thousands of meals, of generations fed with a bit too much oil and an abundance of love and care.
I looked up from the ream of ancient papers to the high vaults of the archives. Nopony had ever prepared a meal in there, but love and care were still present despite what most other ponies may think of us bureaucrats.
"So, what does it say?" A.K.'s tone betrayed a bit of frustration, a detail which admittedly made me smile.
"Aren't you the expert on ancient languages?" I looked at the page in front of me. "I'm pretty sure this qualifies as ancient language."
She scrunched her muzzle. It was adorable when she got frustrated with mundane problems. "Look, the stuff I have to read is generally written by civilizations that have been extinct for a very long time. It's full of enigmas, metaphors, oblique references, and the occasional summoning formula. That I can deal with. But this–" She pointed at the document. "–is madness."
I shook my head. "It is not. I will never understand the revulsion ponies have for the formal language of documents. I admit, this is a bit archaic as far as official documents go, but it's quite clear, to be honest. I've seen far worse in some of the memos I get from Canterlot."
"Yeah, OK, easy for you, me dumb and can't read good. I'm aware, that's the reason why I called you. You know this stuff and all. So, why can't I get a permit for my excavation?"
The Canterlot archives were cavernous and silent, so even our whispered discussion thundered up and down the halls filled with a millennium of stored documents telling the story of the kingdom. "Well, it seems that, according to these documents, the terrain was given in concession to a Diamond Dog burrow, the… Yes, the Petrichor-Saw Dust-Bog Pack." I blinked, looked onto the next page, then back again. "I… That seems to be the name."
"Sounds to me like a direct translation from their language." A.K. scratched her chin. "So, a burrow. But there are no Diamond Dogs there. I checked."
I shrugged. "That doesn't matter. The terrain has been given to them in the year 233 of the Celestial Era and shall be theirs forever after or until they violate their end of the agreement. That caused the lock on the permits. Considering how old this is, I'm not surprised they couldn't tell you why they couldn't give you permission. But the good news is that there's another way if I read this right." I looked down on the last pages. "Yes, if you get their permission, then you can dig there."
"How? There was a burrow there–" There was a silent moving of lips. "–652 years ago. Who knows where they are now, or if they even still exist. That's–argh!"
The pages were perfectly preserved, the ink still as brilliant as the day it dried out. It gave me a bit of joy to think that even my writings, the official ones, would withstand the test of time. I still used as much care as I could. "The Princess gave her word, and the contract was sealed. She can't go back on it when it's a bit inconvenient, can she? I know that it can be frustrating, but there is value in stability. When you can trust the foundation, then you can build."
A.K. laid her head on the table and sighed. "Yeah, right, whatever. What should I do now? I know one of Grogar's Vaults is down there. I can't just let it be." She looked up to me. "Can't you do your paper-pushing magic and do, I don't know, something?"
I put the papers back in the box and gathered my notes. "My paper-pushing magic? You certainly have a way with words. How can I resist such a flattering request?"
She closed her eyes. "Sorry, I didn't mean it that way. It's just that you can do this stuff and are good and nice about it."
"Doesn't your university have a department to deal with this kind of situation?"
She blushed and I had to bite my lip to not giggle. "They don't talk to me anymore. You forget once that you copied down an old Monkey curse on a receipt, and you never live it down."
I patted her on the back. "Was it so offensive?"
"It was more the ghost-spider infestation it caused." A.K. huffed. "I mean, I get it, I messed up big time, but I tried to make amends. Those pecan twirls you sent me should have been a proper peace offering, right?"
I admired the ceiling while continuing to pat A.K. on the back. Maybe Princess Celestia would manifest herself in these Holy Halls of Bureaucracy and grant me the wisdom to deal with this.
She didn't, so I went for the second-best option. "Right, maybe bring them some coffee. Good coffee, and some more pecan twirls. And another round of apologies. And promise you will keep their lives simple. That means presenting your receipts on time, in proper order, and not in any language too exotic."
"That sounds like a lot of work."
"Yes, and if you didn't...haunt? Infest? Contaminate? Whatever, if you didn't fill their office with ghost-spiders then they would do it for you." I grabbed her and pulled her up to a standing position. "Now come, this adventure you pulled me into isn't over yet."
A.K. fell in line behind me. "It isn't a proper adventure, you know? Aside from paper-cuts and a dust-allergy, there isn't any trap. I haven’t had to kick any minions, and no wild beast has tried to poison me, eat me, gore me, slobber on me, or sit on me."
"And I am grateful for that. Does that stuff happen often to you?" I glanced over my shoulder. The noon sun fell through the high windows of the atrium and surrounded A.K. in a warm glow. Her eyes shimmered.
"Seems so? I haven’t gone on that many expeditions, but that stuff happened every time."
Right. That was her life.
I looked back forward, to the rows of desks with busy clerks, the mountains of paper coming from every corner of Equestria, the tranquil and rhythmic work that kept the wheels turning.
That was my life.
I left the filled-out form detailing our work at the reception and stepped out onto the busy streets. "I think I'll leave those things to you then, you seem to have a solid hold on the whole thing. And as for danger, minions, and wild beasts, I wouldn't be too sure we won't get any of those."
A.K. was holding her hoof over her eyes, screening herself from the sun. "Huh, how so?"
"Because we are going to the Ministry of Diplomatic Affairs to ask them to pretty please look up where that pack is now, and if they aren't around anymore, who their descendants are. And we are going to do it just using our charm, our youthful beauty, and five boxes of donuts from a place I’ve heard good things about."
"Ok, the beauty stuff you can pull off, but, uhm…" A.K’s words almost made me stumble. I caught myself just in time and looked back. She was standing there, looking down at her well-toned legs, at her lean figure, at…
I shook my head. I would not repeat the same error. "I wouldn't worry about that, A.K. You–you won't have a problem, believe me." I turned around before she could look at my face. She had a knack for spotting my moments of weakness, and I didn't need that. "Come on, we should make it before they close for the day. But you'll owe me. Big."
"Heh, alright." Good, the doubt disappeared. She didn't deserve that. "So, what will it be? Exotic spices? Some lost treasure, maybe or maybe not cursed?"
She also was good at putting a smile on my face. "No, thank you, I don't want any ghost-spiders. You know what? When you write a book about your adventure, put me in there."
The separé kept the hustle and bustle of the restaurant at bay and reduced it to a pleasant murmur. If I closed my eyes I could easily believe to be sitting on a beach with some music playing in the background. It was, all in all, a nifty spell, one I appreciated.
I hadn't expected it, though.
The restaurant was the kind of high-class affair where one got invited when there had been some policy changes that would cause a lot of work and kept public servants working over-time and dream oppressive dreams of black filing cabinet citadels with titanic, unpony proportions looming under a green sun on a forgotten plateau. Or when somepony wanted a favor and somehow expected me to violate my ethics because I got a fancy meal.
But those were things I was used to. The surprise was that–
"Do you like it? My publisher assured me it was the perfect place to meet old friends and keep it private." The mare that sat down in front of me wore a shawl large enough to cover her whole body, thick glasses, and the kind of hat my grandmother would have seen as too old-fashioned. The whole ensemble practically oozed demure tea-parties in the afternoon. Or it would have if not for the eyes and the voice, which both told a very different story.
"Your publisher? I guess that explains it. I had to check the address on the invitation twice when I saw it came from you." I smiled and leaned forward. "So, we are moving up in the world, aren't we, A.K.? Or maybe I should say–" My voice became a whisper."–Daring Do?"
She looked at me, a frown on her face. And then she grimaced and finally broke into a chuckle. "Yeah, Daring Do, I know. I had to fictionalize some stuff here and there. I like to keep a bit of privacy, and some of the stuff they wouldn't believe anyway. It's still selling like hot-cakes. So, you've read it?"
I nodded. "I did. And so did half the ponies in the city hall and in the town at large."
The waiter arrived and put two glasses on the table, then pulled out a bottle of wine and poured a little bit in A.K.'s glass. She took it, sniffed, sipped, then nodded. The glasses were filled and the waiter left.
I rose my eyebrow.
"What?" She looked at the glasses. "Oh, that, right. I'm not a sommelier but I know something about wine. You're looking at me like my editor did when I insisted on this place. PR even gave me an hour-long talk about what I should do and when. They seemed afraid about having me come to a fancy place."
"Well, you never seemed the type of pony interested in moving around in that milieu. I can see where they’re coming from." I sipped the wine. Dry. Good.
A.K. huffed. "Why? I've been around academia for a while, I talked to sponsors, I went to parties. And even ignoring that, when I'm around and about, I have to curry favors, talk to people, ask local bigwigs for permissions. I may have novelized out some details and made others slightly more rugged and less boring, but I know damn well how to behave." She sipped at her glass. "Sometimes I get the impression that ponies expect me to chug the wine, smash the glass, and then leave by kicking through a window."
"There was that tavern three years ago--"
"Extenuating circumstances! And I didn't say I can't do it. Just that there is a time and a place for it."
I giggled. It was strange, giggling usually happened to other ponies, at least when A.K. wasn't around. "Right, so where's our waiter? I think I would like to order."
"No need for that." A.K. had a smug grin plastered right across her face. "I already ordered everything. You're gonna like it, I'm sure."
A political face can be a useful tool. For example, this little thing had me incensed, and yet, outwardly, I simply frowned. "Really? That's...Actually, that's not exactly enthusing, A.K. I thank you for the invitation, but I like to choose my food myself. I'm old enough to do that and considering age has no other upside I can think of, I would like to make use of that little privilege at least."
I never raised my voice, and yet I was still grateful for the privacy granted by the restaurant.
A.K. sat there and looked at me. Gone was the grin and gone was the energy. "I...It was..." Something changed. She pressed her lips in a thin line and snorted. "And what would you do? Order a salad? Feel maybe a bit adventurous and dare some pasta? Celestia forbid something unusual could come into smelling distance. The shock would surely knock you down. No, no, we can't have that."
I bristled. "So what? I like my routine, I like my little fixed points in life. What can I say, I'm guilty of building something around me instead of running always forward and away from reality."
We stared at each other over the table. Me in my best papillon, she wearing that weird, distracting hat.
It didn't take me long to regret what I said.
The waiter arrived and I jerked from surprise. How could somepony with hooves be so silent? He put two plates in front of us and retreated without a word. And then the smell, the divine smell, tickled my nostrils and I looked down on--
I wasn't quite sure on what. There was a big plate tastefully decorated with sliced carrots, cherry tomatoes, and salad on the border. That seemed to be a framing of normality for the thing in the middle of it.
There was something which could have been a flower if a flower was only passingly familiar with the idea of petals and came up with its own version. Night-blue, thick enough to be almost bulbous and covered in thorns, arranged around a green, translucent growth with white veins just under the skin in the center of the thing. And then it got bored with petals halfway through putting them on and decided to switch to spikes. Rock spikes, apparently.
It was almost as big as my head, and it smelled delicious.
"It's a Marble-pearl. It's a flower from the Midnight Canyon in the Western Desolation. One of the very few Equestrian cooks I know who’s capable of preparing it works here. It was my condition for getting this restaurant." I looked back up to A.K. She stared at the flower-ish thing, her shoulders slumping, her voice low and soft. "I got two when I was there last year. Had them ferment while writing the book. They’re nasty things when you don't store them properly." She sighed. "I'm sorry. When I invite you over, you never complain about my cooking. Ok, there was that time with the grasshoppers, but all the other times you never said anything. So I thought that this was a bit like that."
The thing on my plate was looking back at me. Not literally, it hadn't any eyes. I hoped. Nonetheless, it had a point. "I'm sorry, A.K. I shouldn't have reacted that way. But being at a restaurant is a different thing than being at one's home. When you cook for me it’s you doing the work, and I can't expect you to cater to my every wish. Although if you ever serve me something still wriggling ever again, I will leave by kicking through your window." I closed my eyes for a moment and gathered my thoughts. "Back to my point. When we go to a restaurant, you’re telling me that we’re going where they explicitly will give us a choice. And it’s a choice I cherish, even if I go back to the familiar. I like the familiar, it comforts me. And, as I said, I'm old enough to choose my comforts for myself."
A.K lifted her eyes from her plate. "I...It's just that this stuff is amazing and I wanted to share it with you. You can send it back, though. They make some great amazing filled bell peppers here. Or so I'm told."
Bizarre, slightly creepy, unnatural. There were a lot of ways to describe the thing sitting on my plate. "No, I think I will try it. Just, the next time you want to do something like that, please tell me in advance."
"I will." A.K. grabbed one of the spikes and broke it off. There was some white jelly inside. "It's delicious. I forget myself sometimes, but I know you well enough to know you'll love it."
I eyed the thing, then reached for one of the spikes. It looked like stone but broke off easily. "Right. So, about your book. Why did you describe the public servant helping Daring Do in the archives as this beautiful, charismatic, voluptuous mare?"
A.K. stopped breaking off the shell of the spike and smiled. "Because I know you well."
The Marble-pearl was indeed delicious.
You can recognize a truly classy hotel from the bar. It was a weird, little nugget of wisdom Ms. Harshwhinny once dispensed, and in the years since I heard it for the first time, I confirmed it again and again at conferences and seminars. I even started to develop quite a good eye for it.
The bar I entered had been recommended by Ms. Harshwhinny herself and told a story of past glory and retained dignity. Wooden panels, soft lights, and a piano in the corner where a smart-dressed stallion played unobtrusive tunes. The wall of bottles behind the bar had, at first glance, all the essential liquors and what seemed to be a couple of treasures. The barmare was preparing something with an admirable economy of gestures. No scene, no showing off. As for patrons, there weren't many, and those that were here talked between themselves.
I said, "Sky's clear, A.K." and then walked to one of the free tables.
Velvet seats and hardwood tables, clean, well cared for, and yet the passage of time had left its traces. The fabric of the upholstery was visibly thinner in places and the wood had the kind of stains that no amount of cleaning will ever remove. I liked it.
A.K. sat down on the bench on the other side, her mane hidden under the new hat I had brought her, a pair of glasses with a thick rim on her muzzle, and a long cloak covering her body. It was her usual costume of a timid writer, and yet, for the first time, it gave the impression of showing off her true self.
It was worrisome, and I had no idea where it came from nor what I could do. Something had to be done though, starting with making her comfortable and getting her something to drink.
When the waiter approached, clad in an impeccable vest with a carefully hidden patch, I spoke before A.K. could. "A Rusty Nail and a Gin and Tonic." I felt like I should see some form of irony in my gesture, but couldn't quite place why.
As our order was carried over to the barmare I looked back to A.K. She sat there, eyes lost in the distance, no fidgeting nor taking in her surroundings. It was as if she wasn't really there. Maybe I could call her back. "So, what did you want to talk about?"
She turned to me, then took off her glasses and massaged the bridge of her nose. "I think you were right."
That was unexpected. Or at least I thought so for a few moments before remembering whom I was talking to. Besides being an adventurer, A.K. was a writer. She had been one for almost two decades, and it meant that she often fell back to some practice, technique, or dramatic timing now and then. Mostly when she was distressed. "What happened? I like to believe I'm often right, but it usually doesn't bother you this much."
Our drinks arrived and our waiter guessed correctly who got what. It was a classy place.
A.K. looked at her Rusty Nail. "It wasn't one of the unimportant things you're right about."
I allowed myself to raise an eyebrow as she realized what she just said. She slowly turned her head towards me, her face creased with worry. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean it like that." No banter, no trace of humor.
I sighed. "Don't worry about it. I'm sure you didn't mean it maliciously, and I'm not offended. So tell me, what do you think I was right about?"
She turned her glass between her hooves without lifting it."The whole stable life thing. The tranquil job and having a home where others can come and have tea and won't risk getting possessed by the spirit of Jarak the Greedy because they thought its prison was a kitschy breadbox." She looked down and sighed. "I mean, you were right about the 'having a normal life' thing."
"I honestly don't remember even saying something about it. It's the life I have, and it's right for me. You told me that." I leaned on my hoof. "It's not your life, it's not how you want to pass your time. I'm pretty sure there's nothing wrong with that."
The tune from the piano changed, shifted tempo, became more jazz-y. A.K. lifted her glass, the warm color of the cocktail married to the palette of the surroundings. Not for the first time I wished I was a painter able to capture the moment.
A.K. looked at it with disinterest, if I understood her expression. She brought the glass to her lips, then put it down again. "I don't mean I should become a Mayor or something like that. it's… Many years ago you said I was running away from the now. I got that it was because of your ex, but it stayed with me anyway. And last week I went to the Baltimare Museum of World History. They put up a whole exposition about the Pre-Equestrian trade routes to the west. It was a great exposition, Wax Seal really went all out with it. It was factual, comprehensive, wonderful. There were a couple of artifacts I recovered, the harmless ones, and he made them shine. But in the end, they were just a part of the whole, and the whole was so vast and complex and well-explained that I got a new understanding of half a millennium of ancient history."
The gin in my drink was a good one. The taste of juniper nicely meshed with the bitterness of the tonic water. "That sounds great. It sounds like validation of a lot of hard work. You don't look validated."
"No, no, it's great. Really. Anything that gets ponies to look up from their backyard is usually a good idea. No, the thing is, the exposition got me thinking." She finally wet her lips with her drink. "You see, I asked myself what I'm doing. I mean, yes, I kick villains and grab ancient treasures before they can do whatever nefarious thing they wanted to do with it, but aside from that, what do I do? If I'm lucky the stuff I recover doesn't try to kill anypony, and then I write an adventure novel about it to pay for my next trip. Sounds awesome, right? It is, kinda.”
She took a breath. “But at the end of the day, it's Wax Seal and ponies like him who really give ponies an understanding of what history is. Not the pulpy kind, all lost temples and traps, no, the real kind. The kind that makes you realize how things were different once and how nothing is forever and how maybe there are things we can do better and how if we can understand people so far away in time as to be almost incomprehensible … then maybe we can understand each other better and improve ourselves and history is meaningless if we don't learn from it! And I just plunder stuff to write another book!"
I stared at her. She had stood up, had both of her hooves planted on the table, and was breathing heavily. Silence had filled the bar. A.K. looked around, cleared her throat, and sat down. A moment later ponies returned to their own hushed conversations and their silent musings.
I put my glass down and said, "I don't think I ever heard you put together confused sentences. That's kind of new for you."
"Sorry, I…I think I got kind of messed up by the situation." She breathed in and slowly breathed out through her nose. "Right. I spent the last few days thinking about it. Do you know how many times I broke something during my adventures? Because I don't think I know without looking through my diaries. And the stuff I discovered or found and that went in sealed archives? I need to go through my logs for that too. I ran for twenty years and I keep running and running and I'm never looking back. I'm obsessed with the past, all of it, except my own. And for what?"
A.K. looked at me. Right into my eyes, and I think I could read a real longing for answers.
The adventurer, fantastic writer, and wonderful mare was craving my approval. She was expecting me to put her life into context.
It took all my will to not swat her on the head and simply call her an idiot.
I put my hooves together, tried to clear my mind from my previous considerations, and considered the issue once again. Maybe from a different angle it would make more sense.
The music once again changed. It became subdued, sweet. I glanced over to the stallion at the piano and saw him eyeing a mare at a table. He smiled at her, and I suppose she answered because she winked and the speed picked up a bit once again. The smell of cut lemons and old-fashioned perfume was subtle and mixed with alcohol and old wood.
So many stories just in here, and almost all of them mundane, common, and nonetheless important for those living them.
Maybe the answers A.K. was looking for were less obvious than I thought. She wasn't looking for validation, or for approval. She wanted to know if she mattered.
I liked my life. I admired her greatly, and yet I wouldn't want to do what she did. I couldn't. It continued to seem like the answer was banal. If she didn't matter, who did? Maybe…
There wasn’t really a maybe, not when I wanted to be honest, nor if I wanted the best for her. I leaned forward and reached out to her. "If you're asking me if you matter, if what you do does matter? The answer is clear. You do and it does. A lot. You’ve saved many ponies, done great good, and you will be remembered by many. I think you're asking something else, though. You're asking if you want to continue doing the things you do, and that all hinges on the question, do you love doing it? If you do, then...look, I stopped doing things I loved because I felt they didn't matter, and it took me a lot of time to understand that I was looking at it from the wrong perspective. Don't make the same error. If you love being A.K. Yearling, and I mean the real one, the adventurer and writer, then what you do matters. But only you can know it.
She looked down. "I…I don't know. I think I…I'll have to think about it." Her hoof touched mine. "What will there be for me if I continue?"
"I've known you for the better part of my life. I've always been here for you as you have for me. I don't know what the future will bring, but I will be there."
Her eyes met mine, she smiled. "Heh, you're right. You've always been there for me." She pressed her lips in a thin line. "I'm not sure what I'll do, but there's something I need to know. I–It's something I wanted to know for many years, I think."
I tilted my head. "What is it?"
A.K. leaned forward over the table, her lips met mine, and she kissed me.
For once, without much thinking, I leaned in.
The campfire painted everything in flickering, warm tones. At the edge of the little island of light in the meadow towered the suggestions of trees, incomplete shapes on the brink of formlessness. And past them, amorphous darkness chittering, skittering, whistling, and rustling. Despite the unlimited potential lurking in the darkness, or maybe exactly for that reason, the eye always wandered back to the campfire.
Once upon a time, I thought that the artistic aspirations of fire lacked subtlety, that they were too unsophisticated. I think I was wrong. I think it simply knew what was important and shamelessly pointed it out.
I shifted under A.K.'s wing and pushed against her side. It wasn't as if the late-spring night was cold, I just felt like it.
Look at me, all spontaneous and daring.
"So, where was I?" A.K. poked the fire with her poking stick.
I leaned my head into her neck. "About how they brought an end to Dr.Caballeron's plan and showed you how you should continue with a life of reckless endangerment and horrible sleeping situations."
"Yes, right, that." She molested the fire again, pushing logs about, then laid the stick down. "Next time I see Dr.Caballeron I think he'll get an extra dose of kicks, just to show that I don't appreciate him being such a bad sport. I mean, really? Manipulating the doubts of an old mare? That's low-level grifter stuff, not two-hoofed adventure villain material."
I could hear her heartbeat. Steady, like a clock. It was a strong heart. "You'll do that dear, and then add a couple more from me. You've been miserable, and I didn't like it at all. And you're not old. That's my role. I'm the decrepit hag preying on the young and beautiful."
I felt her turn her head and then the peck on my head "You're just two years older, stop being so dramatic. That's my job as a writer. You continue Mayoring that little town and keep producing such amazing mares. They really saved my flank and kept me on track."
"They are amazing. And also a terrible headache, but yes, amazing. I doubt I can claim any responsibility for them being what they are, though. I'm just the mare allocating the relief funds after whatever thing wanted to eat us all got convinced to rather not do that."
Another peck, this time on my ear. "Oh, that's puppet-master talk right there. I'm on to you, Miss Mare. I know that you're an awesome, wonderful mare and that it is through your bureaucratic meddling and maneuvering that the heroes of Equestria came into being. Probably out from a pile of perfectly filled out forms."
I flicked my ear and giggled. "Oh, adulation will get you everywhere, Abeyant Knowledge Yearling. And I admit that I have no doubt that Princess Twilight could have sprung fully formed from a library loaning application. That would actually explain a lot of things."
A.K. grunted. "I shouldn't have told my full name. You're the kind of mare that capitalizes on every little weakness one shows. Must be how you’ve kept being Mayor for twenty years."
"Twenty-seven years, please. And I'm Mayor because nopony else wants the job." I rolled on my side and out from under her wing. I spread my forelegs and said. "I still don't understand your problem with your name. I think it's adorable."
"It shows that my mother doesn't know how words work or what they mean. Or what context is." A.K. laid rolled into my hug. "My aunt gifting her a thesaurus was an error, let me tell you. I love my mother dearly, but come on! 'Abeyant Knowledge'? Curious Yearling would work, or Searching Yearling. There are so many possibilities, and instead, I have to go with A.K."
I hugged her a bit tighter. "You can change names, you know? I mean, I did. It's pretty common and straightforward too. You aren't the only one whose parents-given name wasn't to their liking."
She shook her head. "Nah, I already got a second name for adventuring, and A.K. now has quite an amount of clout attached to it in literary circles. I'll survive the occasional ribbing on your part. Just promise me you won't tell anypony else, ever."
"Your secret is safe with me, public servant promise."
"Wasn't that a filly-scout promise?"
"Never was a filly scout, that should have been evident the first time you've met me. We have a tent tonight just because you did your outdoor-stuff magic. If you left it to me there would have been nothing but burning ruins and a bottle of rye to pass the night." I kissed her neck. "There's another form of promise I could make, but it tends to get weird and involves Pinkie Pie. Lovely mare, I assure you, but a bit too intense and without a real sense of personal space."
"I'm good with your promise, no need to involve anypony else. And I must say, a night with only something to drink and you to keep me warm has some charm."
I laughed and nuzzled her. "My, my, you sound like a teenager. It's nice to know we are still in that phase, though. I like it. It makes me feel young and adventurous."
The fire crackled and embers floated up in the night sky. Little orange stars living an ephemeral and glorious life against the backdrop of Luna's reign. Maybe I could write poetry once again.
"It's nice here. I mean, in your hug." A.K. shifted and turned around without leaving my embrace. She looked me right in the eyes. "I…It gets lonely in my cottage sometimes. You told me I can come whenever I want. So, would it really be right if–could I come to stay with you for a while?"
Unexpected events tended to stress me out. I learned to deal with them, I had to, but I rarely appreciated them. At that moment, in the meadow, hugging my love, I was surprised, floored, and yet there was a pleasant warmth in my chest. There was also a little nugget of dread in the back of my head. "Are–are you sure? I'm boring and I have routines and each day is the same and…" I gulped down. "You're free and you like action and I'm scared I will bore you away."
She reached out with a hoof and held it to my face. "I've known you for most of my life. You were there for all the important parts. I'm not sure of anything except that you aren't boring and that you being the only solid ground that keeps me always safe won't mess things up. Maybe I'll make a mess, I do that often, and I'm scared of it and maybe I’ll get cold hooves tomorrow morning and wait a couple months more, but I really, really want to try this. I’ve been doing stupidly dangerous stuff for decades, I want to take a risk for this. I want to try being calm, at least a bit. Will–will you come on this adventure with me?"
I leaned forward and kissed her.
We were embracing and kissing in a small island of light in the middle of formless darkness at the center of the world. Yes, maybe fire sometimes knew exactly what was important.