First Magic (Duncan x Tuscan)

Tuscan

”Dad!! DaddadDAD!” Tuscan cried, bounding through Solomon’s Glade with great leaps as he searched for his Lord Father. The staff of the Glade looked on curiously as the Lordling went passed, their ears perked and their eyes full of confusion as to what could have the grumpy little Lord so excited.

Oh but Tuscan had a wonderful reason to be excited. The snow was newly melted for Tuscan’s fourth spring, revealing the grass beneath, just like every year. But this year something extraordinary had happened as he stood in a patch of dull brown grass. He had stared at it, and suddenly he felt something, as if he could do something. And then… slowly… the brown grass began to brighten, and shift, and suddenly there was a patch of deep green grass before him. It was a little patch, nothing impressive, but it was the first time Tuscan had ever used magic before. So he had taken a giant mouthful of the sweet green stuff he had created and then took off to find his dad.

He raced toward the garden, where Lord Duncan usually spent his time, finally seeing the hulking dark shape of his father. “Dad!” he shouted in joy, “Dad! Guess what?”

---

Duncan

The Scarred Lord’s eyes were closed as he inhaled the sweet perfume of the wisteria that climbed shaped branches of trees that acted as trellises about the Bower. The warming days teased flowers to spread their colorful petals, and the air was filled with a heavenly bouquet. Soon, there would be planting of the vegetables and cleaning of the rooms, but, for now, Duncan stole a few moments to appreciate living.

A slow smile followed his exhale. He was aware of an unusual joyous keening. Tuscan. The boy had been somewhat absent during the daylight hours recently; he’d return with excited synopses of his adventures. This gladdened the older stag, as Duncan had not been so adventurous as a colt. And Tuscan was making friends and connections-! The stag couldn’t wait to hear what his son had done now.

The scarred visage turned from the waterfall of purple-blue flowers as the thunder of small hooves neared.

”Ah! Tuscan! What—“ His father stopped, eyebrows raising at the mouthful of...yes, grass in his son’s mouth—”what is in your mouth? Grass?”

---

Tuscan

Duncan was resting where Tuscan found him, looking almost as if he was meditating. That’s my dad! He was also so grand and wise and above everything. Tuscan yearned to be that great… to be that so unquestionably worthy of respect that you didn’t even have to try. It was difficult to believe from Tuscan’s other interactions, but to become like his dad was his greatest aspiration of all. First though… he needed respect.

Tuscan smiled at his dad, positively giddy, when he asked about the grass in his mouth. “Yes.” Tuscan breathed, “Grass. Green grass! I made it green all by myself, Dad! I made it green! Wanna see me do it? I’ll bet I could do it again!” Tuscan searched his father’s eyes for his reaction, ready to drink in the inevitable pride that Duncan would have for him.

---

Duncan

I made it green! Wanna see me do it? I’ll bet I could do it again!”

Duncan’s eyebrows rose higher and his mouth slowly gaped as realization dawned. Tuscan had done magic! Asher did not show any interest or (sadly) aptitude for the craft, and Roksana had been born a proper princess, blessed with a shocking amount of natural magic, but this child-! He was like his father and had but a seed of power he would have to nurture. The stag nodded enthusiastically, a huge smile growing in place of the gape.

”By Oganach! Yes! Show me!” the Scarred Lord giggled excitedly. He felt a colt once more—eagerness and amazement making his heart thunder against his ribs. His eyes, wide and glittering, crossed as he looked down his own nose to a patch of dull ground before him.

He gestured to it, saying, ”There!”

Duncan forced himself to calm a bit. Tuscan would need his concentration. Though he still quivered with anticipation, he nodded more soberly to the colt.

”Take your time,” he added, still smiling.

---

Tuscan

Tuscan watched Duncan reply and he was not disappointed. Duncan looked stunned, and then positively joyous! The excitement was infectious. Especially when it radiated from his greatest idol. Duncan directed him toward a patch of brown grass and Tuscan nodded, walking to the patch and planting his little hooves within it. “Watch…” Tuscan said softly, for dramatic effect, as his mahogany eyes narrowed, and he stared down at the grass. With all this excitement Tuscan figured he would turn the whole glade into a vibrant green!

Though it turned out to be a bit more complicated than that as he looked down at the grass. Green, he ordered. He took a deep breath, Green! He tried to reach into that little pool of conscious will that he discovered just moment ago, the special kind of effort that touched a power he was only just becoming aware of. But for some reason… it was harder now. He nodded at his father’s soothing words, though he barely registered them. He flattened his ears, braced his legs, and closed his eyes. He didn’t know what he was doing, but surely if he put in effort something would happen! “Come on...” he groaned, frustration beginning to mount. He took a deep breath, tensed up, and tried again. His limbs shook a bit as he searched every bit of his inner self, trying to find that reservoir of power again. But it seemed lost. It was so easy before… “I…” he said in dismay, “I can’t find it.” He snorted, scoring the dead grass with a front hoof as he felt his frustration begin to turn to anger. “Why can’t I do it now!?”

---

Duncan

The older stag felt his heart drop as his son's frustration and disappointment grew. He knew what this felt like. How many times had he been 'denied' the power his Father so easily wielded? He, himself, had wept bitterly, thinking himself incapable of magic and bitter at the lack of instruction Solomon seemed comfortable with. The fact that he had gotten to this point in his life was somewhat of a miracle. He smiled warmly, encouragingly to his son.

"Because you're trying too hard. Lay down, Tuscan," he urged. After a moment, he continued: "Everything about us is connected to a stream of energy. We are connected, as well, but some of us can actually tap into that stream. You can--it's just a matter of learning the language,  so to speak."

Duncan gently reached out a hoof and tapped the colt's chest with it. "It all starts here. I like to imagine a glowing line from myself descending into a glowing river underground, just below the plants. Once my line touches the river, I then seek the roots of the plants I wish to grow and imagine them growing from the roots up. Slowly. Uh, it feels kind of tingly in my hooves when I do it right."

He offered Tuscan a small grin. This was easy to explain but harder to teach, as the results depended on the pupil and not the teacher. Maybe this was why his own Father had declined to instruct him? He didn't know how to explain the procedure. One did fall into a sort of negligence with the magic--idly using it without truly thinking of the fantastic process involved. His people took a lot for granted in that respect. Everything was right at their hoof-tips, and they never considered how difficult life might be without it.

Ah, well. the Scarred Lord nodded to Tuscan, signalling that he was finished talking. Try again, my son. Your heart is strong, and I believe in you!

---

Tuscan

Tuscan looked up at his father, his fury melting when faced with his Duncan’s warm eyes. The large stag didn’t seem surprised at all, nevermind disappointed at the incompetence of his son. Then he explained that he was just trying too hard. Trying too hard? How was that possible? The more you try the more you are supposed to succeed! He listened to his father, however, and relented while still catching his breath a bit.

He perked his ears, listening to Duncan’s lesson. Learning the language… Tuscan tried to understand but ultimately it was all a bit obscure for him. He understood the parts about the magic being the stream of energy, but the rest he didn’t know what to do with.

Duncan reached a large feathered hoof to Tuscan, and the dark Lord withdrew his head to look at the hoof as it tapped his little chest gently. Then Duncan explained how he felt when he used magic. Tuscan felt that he could relate, during the first time he had used magic only moments ago he could feel a sort of strange connection to the grass below him, he could feel the power flow through his hooves. It felt almost like an extension of his hoof except for not really because it wasn’t like he could move stuff… but he felt things were there and could do things to them.

He met Duncan’s gaze, and nodded when his father indicated at him to try again. He spread his hooves, perking his ears and looking at the ground. He felt almost as if whatever power he had was shut behind a door he couldn't unlock. He felt like a baby again… but it had been there. He had the ability. He looked up at Duncan again, uncertainty. The Scarred Lord was looking back at him, an encouraging smile on his face. Tuscan wasn’t always happy and content. Usually he wasn’t, in fact. But under his father’s glowing smile, that was one of the only times he truly was.

He managed a smile, genuine smile, and then tried to find that place again. He felt the tingling of something deep in his heart, and immediately he knew what it was. Excitement and determination nursed the feeling and soon he was reaching through his legs and down to the ground below. The grass shifted and ruffled as they went from brown to green, starting at the base and flowing up each blade until the tip was lush and healthy in the sun. He gasped in joy, “Look!” he cried. Only a few blades and it wasn’t a fast process but it was happening and he could feel it!

---

Duncan

Tuscan's face went through a series of emotions from utter confusion to determination, and, for a few moments as he explained things to his son, Duncan thought he'd lost him. Why was it so hard to talk to him? What happened between being a foal and becoming a stag that you forgot what it was like to be a colt and how they thought? It was when the Scarred Lord felt the fringes of despair brush him that the colt began to smile, positioning himself to try again. As the grass below the tiny hooves rejuvenated, Duncan's anxiety melted into pride and joy.

"Look!" Came the triumphant cry, and the older fawnling couldn't stop his eyes from misting over.

"Yes, I see! Bravo, my boy!" Duncan bugled, leaning forward to push his forehead to his son's. Swallowing tears of joy, he whispered thickly, "I am so proud of you! You're doing so well!"

Life would've been so different had Solomon done this. Just a little praise and affection would have made an awkward, scarred colt feel like he hadn't been a failure. Ah, but that would've changed who he was now, and he considered himself a fair, loving, supporting Father. But, why think of Solo now? Perhaps, Duncan pondered, I would like to say that he would've been proud as well. He shoved those thoughts aside and let his son's accomplishment brighten his heart once more.

---

Tuscan

Tuscan was giddy as he looked around at the green grass, and he even leaned down to take a bite of his new creation, enjoying how sweet and healthy it tasted. Some of the best grass he had tasted since before winter had come! He lifted his head in time to meet his father’s affectionate head pump. He craned his neck forward, smiling from ear to ear, pressing his forehead against his father’s. He could hear the pride in his voice, and the love. “Thanks Dad,” Tuscan said. This was only the beginning he knew. He would keep working, and learn more. Lord Duncan thought he was proud now, just wait and see!