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Plans are feeble things. They bend in the wind and snap under pressure. They wash away in the midst of a humid summer downpour. They get drowned out by impulsive decisions and loud longing that comes from the heart’s special secret places.
Rushing through the forest’s dark soil, down to the rocky bank of a river whose name was thought up by two over imaginative children. Great River Amonthiad. It meant nothing, it was just sounds. Sounds from a make-believe language that never had any more depth to it than vocabulary invented on the fly when questioned by curious parents. The Amonthiad was the border of a grand kingdom, the name changed so many times that its actual title is now and forever up to debate. This land spanned vast territories, from the Great River to the house that would affectionately be known as the Demon Lands. A nickname that had not been well received by those same curious parents. One such name that led to an argument about being sensitive and more ‘aware’, an argument that was quickly discarded. The name remains unchanged. At the heart of this bustling kingdom lies a castle that started as an idea. A concept. An impossible to replicate visual worked out of childhood imaginations. Glistening walls of crystal, shifting hues of violet and fuschia, covered in artwork and tapestries handcrafted by the finest artisans. It is, realistically speaking, a shack. The gilded corridors are nothing more than unvarnished wood walls decorated in complete world knowledge rather than woven drapery. Opposite the door, a map of the Unicorn Palatine hung front and center, annotated thoroughly.
Notes were hung from the map's margins detailing a plan. One Whimsy was trying to distance herself from. If it weren’t for a freak rainstorm that blew into their town leaving muggy air clinging to her coat, she and Atlas would’ve been hours away by now. There is a tree, gnarled and old looking, nearly uprooted in the Southern half of the Palatine. There are a myriad of Celestial tales of how it’s managed to thrive despite being torn up from the soil, making it a cultural landmark. Besides that, though, it was said to be stunning. There were pages in old textbooks about its beauty with some artistic renditions committed to ink but those would never compare to standing below its roots for herself. Whimsy was more than disappointed she couldn’t be there at first. She ranted and raved about the weather ruining everything. She pouted, hiding her nose behind a book she never planned to read. She paced, she laid in just about every spot on the floor, she sat by the window to watch the rainfall. The midsummer air was clammy and unpleasant, the gentle breeze making its way through the opening. The air, while oppressive, smelled wonderful.
The soft drumbeat on the metal sheet roofing made itself at home at the fringes of Whimsy’s attention. The real focus, though, shifted. First, yes, it was absolutely the plan that got ruined. Then the world, currently sitting on a backburner. Now? It was on Atlas. He had barely said a word all day. He wasn’t in a bad mood, he humored her ranting, he laughed with her as she paced, making a manic fool out of herself. He was happy. Just quiet. He was full of those quiet things. Sure, he was social enough but he found comfort in silently working through something on his own. It eluded her completely. Whimsy wasn’t uncomfortable in silence, it just wasn’t in her nature to stay in it long. She had thoughts, ideas, comments, all lining up to be voiced and heard. She was at her happiest when she could give in to those wants, a happiness Atlas always seemed to provide.
The drums pulled at her attention a bit more, accompanied by a swell in her chest. There wasn’t ever a time he was upset to hear her talk. She could speak for hours and he would be an active, excited, involved listener start to finish. When it came to ponies she found herself talking at, she didn’t care for a response. Often she would talk at them and move on, unwaveringly confident in her own words that someone else’s wouldn’t be necessary. With Atlas though, she added pauses, lulls to the conversation at hoof just to hear him speak. It wasn’t out of kindness or some new found respect for differing opinions as a whole, it was born from something more personal.
There was a fanfare, it echoed in her head. She liked hearing him speak, she liked hearing his point of view. Atlas never gave himself nearly enough credit for just how smart he was. He proved her wrong, a ton, and it was electric every time. Whimsy felt motivated just to know more simply by being around him. It was a game, one she delighted in. And at the end of it, they’d teach each other something new. Whimsy taught him about religious practices in other parts of Equestria, he taught her how to read isolines. She showed him constellations, he would show off hidden treasures he found at the bookstore he worked in. Ones always tailored to Whimsy’s specific taste to the point where she was nearly convinced he read them before handing them over just to make absolutely certain she would enjoy them. She wanted to see the world with him, there was no running from that. It would throw everything they had planned for in the garbage. He was an apprentice cartographer learning from his boss at the bookstore and was well on his way to running the place when the day came. She was about to be enrolled for early classes at her mother’s magic academy, a special perk that came with being the best teacher's daughter. She used to dream of that day with wistful rose lenses filtering that life with pink hues. Now it felt like an obligation to someone she no longer was. She wanted to feel small, that tree would’ve only been the start. The roots reaching far over her head would only send her down a spiral, something she had come to terms with weeks ago. She needed to be the smallest thing in the universe, looking up at the grand scale of it all and to feel its cold shiver deep in her ribs. Whimsy wanted to be humbled by the sheer scope of the world and then overcome it. She wanted to learn everything she could and write it down in a way that made everyone fall as deeply in love with the world as she was. Equestria was beautiful, life within it was beautiful. She wanted to experience it all at once, to take it in through vistas, valleys, and valuable moments in time. The irreplaceable ones that no written language could ever capture in proper detail. Moments like this.
Whimsy had been staring at Atlas without realizing. She wanted him to see it too, she wanted him to get lost in the drumbeats and the fanfare with her, she wanted to hear what he thought was the most beautiful part about being alive and then make sure to push him towards it every day she could. The world called to a part of her she couldn’t reach but Atlas also had a pull, one much easier to find.
“Hey, Atlas, not-so-quick question.” The words left her mouth almost as quick as they popped into her head. Her heart grew louder than the symphony on the roof and in her head, it drowned it all out, washed it away.
He turned to her with a smile that always gave her pause. It didn’t make her nervous, he never could. It did distract her, most days it would rip her thoughts completely from her attention and she’d have to scramble to retrieve them before too long had passed. Today her thoughts stayed right where she needed them, today she was going to commit. She was going to travel the world, she wanted him to be by her side when she did it. Plans come second to love and Whimsy had two of those. The tree could wait. So could school. Hopefully, so could the bookstore. She loved Atlas, then the world, in that exact order. She planned to tell him both, just in reverse.