Login

Old Flames and New Sparks

by GentlemanJ

Chapter 7

Previous Chapter Next Chapter

Chapter 7

Surreal. Adjective. To have the disorienting, hallucinatory, and fantastic qualities of a dream. Rarity may not have been familiar with the technical definition of the word, but she was certainly gaining a good grasp of the concept.

You see, while Graves was a regular in Canterlot, he kept strictly to certain areas and avoided others. Anything with even a hint of “hoity toity fanciness” as Applejack put it, was treated with the same prejudice as a Class 4 Quarantine. So when Graves had finally revealed the location and purpose of his most peculiar summons, it was of such an unexpected and outlandish nature that Rarity had no words to describe it except as surreal.

Graves had taken her shopping.

Yes, the Ghost of Thunder, a man who would rather throw down with a tauren chieftan than attend a high tea had voluntarily taken the fabulous fashionista shopping. And this wasn’t for military surplus goods, groceries, house-needs-fixing-up materials, or anything even remotely close to practical, oh no. Arrived at Canterlot’s famed Diamond District, Graves has quietly, some might say even pleasantly – at least as pleasantly as a man who never smiled could be in the circumstance, at any rate – followed along as Rarity tried on hats, dresses, shoes, jewelry, and more through a full tour through the dozens of boutiques lining the glittering way.

Then at the precise strike of noon, Graves called an abrupt halt to the spree. At first, Rarity had thought that even the marshal’s stone-trying patience had worn out, and indeed, it was remarkable that it’d lasted as long as it did. However, it seemed that the only reason for halting the morning’s activities was because they had more activities to deal with.

As two Academy cadets – a small girl with bronze-colored hair and a bean sprout with glasses – whisked away her purchases, the Ponyville duo headed over to the Chubby Goose for a leisurely lunch with all of Rarity’s favorite Canterlot people. Lunch gave way to a tour of a new modern art exhibit, which in turn gave way to a delightful afternoon tea complete with idle chit chat and social banter. And just when Rarity was sure that nothing more could surprise her after such an unexpected day, Graves had laid down the piece de resistance.

Opera.

She had no idea how and even less idea on why, but somehow, Graves had managed to secure two box seats to the evening performance of La Traviata as performed by none other than Prima Donna herself. Though Rarity had always wanted to see this show, one touted as an exemplar of Equestria’s culture and art, never would she have imagined that she would be seeing it today, and with Graves, no less, who stayed awake and alert through the entire performance.

The final trilling notes rang, the audience applauded, and soon, the young couple found themselves outside once more, seated in front of a cozy, little bakery with steaming cups of fresh coffee in hand and piping hot beignets on the way. It was here, slowly sipping on quality roast as the sun set and the city lights twinkled to life, that Rarity got her first chance to reflect.

She’d had a wonderful time. Marvelous really. But not once through that entire, almost perfect day, had she been able to shake the strange, dreamlike feeling that permeated the whole affair. Not that she feared foul play, by any means. The tension in the marshal’s jawline showed that he hadn’t been brainwashed into enjoying the events, and small mannerisms – the way he leaned back in his seat in thought, for example – ruled out Changelings. No, her main question was, and still remained as simple as ever.

Why?

Graves hated society. Not the people, but the circumstance. He found it stifling, awkward, inconsequential, and painfully, painfully, boring. So why on earth would he have put in such effort into arranging such a personal ordeal, especially after the dreadful way she’d behaved not forty eight hours ago? He’d given no indication of his intent, so as Rarity sat there, daintily picking at a fresh pastry under the first stars of night, she wondered.

A few of her thoughts were pleasant. A few.

*****

“So…”

Rarity started. It was the first word Graves had really directed her way all day.

“So…” she repeated. She had no idea what else to say.

“You have fun today?”

“Oh my, yes,” Rarity beamed. “It’s been positively ages since I saw Lady Uptown, and Chic Sublime’s newest designs just came out, and of course, the third movement with Don Epon’s aria was simply–” Realizing that she’d begun rambling like a toddler about seeing the tigers at the zoo, Rarity gave a delicate cough and, with pink-tinged cheeks, resumed at a much more reasonable, ladylike pace. “That is to say, today has been wonderful.”

“Mm, good,” Graves nodded slowly. “That’ll make what I have to say a bit easier.”

Oh no. Not now. With a keen understanding that every word spoken could make or break resolve, Rarity launched a calculated, pre-emptive strike. Reaching slender fingers across the table, the young woman took one of the marshal’s calloused hands into hers and took away his chance to speak.

“Graves,” Rarity interrupted, needing no affect to bring the anxious trill into her voice. “I understand that you’re upset with me, and you have every right to be. I have done terrible things to you, and I can understand how you’d never wish to speak with me again.” That admission hurt a lot more than she’d expected, but the violet-haired beauty pressed on as the urgency in her heart spilled out with every word.

“You know I’m sorry, Graves, and you know that I love you. I can’t undo what I’ve done, but you can be sure that I will do everything I can to make it right. Just give me a chance and I’ll prove that I can change. All that I ask is that you give me a chance. Please?”

“…”

“…”

“Um… okay.”

Rarity blinked.

“Really? Just like that?”

“I guess?” Graves shrugged. “You wanna change something, go for it. Don’t need my permission, do you?”

“Well, I sort of do if you’re breaking up with me.”

Now it was the marshal’s turn to blink.

“I’m breaking up with you?”

“You mean you weren’t?” Rarity gaped in surprise, an expression that was quickly mirrored by Graves in response.

“Rarity, I just put myself through a morning of shopping, an afternoon of small talk, and opera. Opera. Why the hay would I do all that if I was breaking up with you?”

That… was actually a really good question. Why would he?

“Because you were trying to give me a last, fond memory before the inevitable, soul-crushing despair to follow?” The tentative smile Rarity offered was returned by a look flatter than a planed board.

“… Rarity, have you been reading Twilight’s fan stories again?”

“… Maybe…”

Confirmed with a sheepish smile, Graves could only slump head into hands as a long and well-deserved sigh leaked out of a dumbfounded chest.

“Rarity, nobody breaks up like that,” the marshal remarked as gunmetal grey eyes, positively brimming with pained pity, rose to meet hers once more. “Seriously, nobody.”

“Noble Shale did,” Rarity mumbled, but not too loudly. Citing the lead character of an objectively pulpy and completely indecent wish-fulfillment novel would probably do her no discernable favors.

“And even if they did,” Graves continued, “what makes you think I would? What makes you think I’d break up with you at all?”

“Because I was so wretchedly horrid to you,” Rarity cried out in abject vexation. “You did nothing wrong to me and yet when you came to me that night, I raged at you, lashed out, and pitched a hissy fit like a… a spoiled child. It was absolutely atrocious.”

“I’ll say.”

It was only when Rarity’s stunned eyes found the slight curl on the marshal’s lips that she realized it had been said in jest. Well, mostly.

“But that’s what I don’t get,” Graves resumed as his eyes hardened with the glint of a hunting predator. “What exactly did I do that got you so mad?”

“You didn’t do anythi–”

“I did something,” Graves interjected. “Maybe without intent and maybe even nothing wrong, but something about me got you mad. What was it?”

Looking into those gunmetal grey eyes, Rarity could see that Graves would not be dissuaded. He was on the scent of something and you could be well sure that he wasn’t going to give up until he’d figured out what it was. So, with a resigned sigh, Rarity answered the question.

“… You were too nice.”

“Pardon?”

“I said, you were too nice!” Rarity repeated with a great deal more heat than expected. She’d come to make peace with Graves after all, but she’d be tinsel on a tea gown if she wasn’t still upset. “Ever since you got back, you’ve been spending all your time with Araneida and not me! And I know, you invited me to tag along, but it was always with things that I don’t really like to do! I mean, I could have done it, but it just wouldn’t be the same, not when I have to see you two looking like you’re having the time of your lives without me, so I tried to put up with it, only I couldn’t because I was just so–”

It was only as her tirade truly fell into stride that Rarity realized she’d become the impromptu center of attention. During her soliloquy, all other patrons had fallen silent as a clearly upset, but still beautiful woman had begun regaling a silently stoic companion with the most deliciously delightful woes. Emotional or not, this was Canterlot, and drama was as much food for them as the meals on their plates.

“So you were, what… jealous?” Graves finished. With a sullen nod, Rarity slipped lower into her seat.

“I know you were just being a good friend,” Rarity replied through a lower lip that stuck out further as her pout grew deeper, “but I still didn’t like it.”

“But why?” Graves asked again, still hunting for an answer he still didn’t have. “I’m… ‘nice’” he added with hooking fingers, “to, Twilight, Fluttershy, and everyone else. Why’s Araneida got you so bothered?”

“She’s… special,” Rarity frowned as her sulk grew worse. “You don’t go on missions with Twilight, and you don’t do all your fancy marshal training with Fluttershy. I can do things for you in Ponyville, just like anyone else, but I can’t… you know…”

“You can’t be everything,” Graves breathed as understanding finally clicked. “Because we’re so different.” To this, Rarity slowly nodded.

“Araneida has everything I do, and more. She’s clearly smart, definitely shares your sense of humor, and is… quite… pretty…” The last admission came through gritted teeth, but come out it did, nonetheless. “But whereas I’m stuck in Ponyville just waiting for you to get back from all your hair-raising adventures, she can go out and be with you as they happen. That’s a part of your life that I’ll never be a part of.”

As a tear welled up in her eye, Rarity hastily dabbed at it with an untouched napkin. For Celestia’s sake, she’d told herself she wouldn’t cry. She’d worn waterproof mascara just in case because no reason to be foolish, but still. Graves, however, remained silent, his face an impassive mask as the effects of her words were left best to the imagination. It took perhaps a minute, though it certainly felt longer, before the marshal spoke.

“Check please.”

“Hah?”

Realizing that he had been speaking to the waiter and not to her, Rarity watched in puzzlement as Graves settled the bill and waved her along. Leaving their untouched pastries, behind, the two headed out into the coolness of a fresh, spring eve.

*****

When curiosity got the better of her, Rarity finally spoke.

“Where are we going?”

The marshal had been leading them towards the palace for some time now, but not quite. Always heading in a slightly more western bend, lively avenues and boulevards gave way to the quiet courtyards and public gardens that surrounded the castle.

“So I’ve been thinking,” Graves said, his voice the same low, gravelly rumble it always was. “About what you said. How we’re different.”

“And?”

“And you’re right, we are different. We come from two completely different places and live two different lives. By all accounts, it’s a miracle we’re together at all.”

That stung. Rarity had had the same thoughts herself, but hearing the marshal state it with such matter-of-fact ease stung like a sharp blow to the cheek.

“You’re also right that Araneida and I get along,” Graves continued. “She’s a brilliant soldier and we’ve got a lot of good history together. Fact is, if I needed someone to watch my back in the field, she’d be on the short list, no problem.”

Okay, the last one had stung. This just downright hurt.

“And yet,” Graves said, footsteps halting as he turned to fix Rarity with hard, silver eyes, “none of that really matters because I chose you. Araneida wasn’t the one I near committed treason for, and she’s certainly not the one I sat through an opera for.”

“But… but that’s just it,” Rarity fretted softly, sapphire eyes hazy as they kept eyes fixed on the ground, unable to look up. "I know you did that, Graves, and Celestia knows how hard it was for you…”

“Hey, even I don’t hate culture that much,” Graves chuckled.

“You know what I mean,” Rarity giggled despite the tears that continued to well. “It’s just… I know I’m not an easy person to love. I’m moody, temperamental, demanding, fickle, jealous and so much more. When you add in how different we are, I can’t help but worry that someday you’ll grow tired of it all and choose someone else.”

“I see,” Graves nodded quietly. “Then it’s a good thing we came.”

Resuming his long, even strides, Graves continued leading Rarity further through the shaded park. Turning at an unexpected moment, Graves headed down a small, neatly laid path a grove of trees next to the palace wall. By all rights, the unassuming gateway could have been one of any number of servants’ entryways except for the presence of two, armed guards.

“Evening,” Graves called out as he showed his marshal’s badge to the raven-armored sentries. “Mind if we go through here?”

Eyes flickering between the silver of the badge and eyes, the two guardsman parted ways and saluted as Graves ushered Rarity through to a most peculiar sight.

It was a park, but unlike any Rarity had ever seen. Where flowers, trees, and all manners of greenery would have grown, the spacious plaza was paved over with smooth, polished marble and filled with slabs of the same pristine stone carved all over with delicate scrollwork. Placed equidistant from each other, the entire courtyard held nothing beyond these stone plinths and the atmosphere of solemn simplicity.

“What is this place?” Rarity asked in wonder as she followed Graves between carving after carving. “I don’t think I’ve ever been here before.”

“Most people haven’t,” the marshal rumbled. “Not exactly a popular spot, but I figured it’d suit us just fine.”

“Really?” Rarity blinked. “How? Why?”

“Because,” Graves answered. “There some folks you need to meet.”

Meet people? Here? And at this hour? What could the marshal possibly mean? As Rarity looked around, she once again confirmed that save for them, there wasn’t a soul to be seen in that entire plaza. All that stood were those numerous marble slabs with their intricate decorations…

… no. Not decorations. Words. Names.

To the young woman’s surprise, a closer inspection revealed that without exception, every single marble slab was carved over and about with countless names. There must have been hundreds of them, thousands, as each monument they passed stood covered head to foot in carvings of beautiful, regal script. It was to one of these monuments, one resting near castle wall much like numerous others, that Graves approached. There was nothing exceptional about this piece save for the fact that the marshal stood before it and looked. Looked, as Rarity noticed, right at a small collection of names carved into its cold, smooth surface.

“So, we’re here,” Graves sighed with a wry smile as he raised a hand to remove his broad, flat-brimmed hat. “And it’s time I told you a little story.”

**********

Next Chapter: Chapter 8 Estimated time remaining: 31 Minutes
Return to Story Description

Login

Facebook
Login with
Facebook:
FiMFetch