What Has Fyora Ever Done For Us?

     Selwick stood at the entryway to the park, his eyes narrowed as he watched the merriment, his purple tail swishing violently. When he had awoken that bright and sunny morning and decided to head to his usual haunt, he hadn’t realised there would be quite such a furore around Fyora Day. He dithered for a moment, briefly considering going back home to be alone, but defiantly he strode forward, intent on finding somewhere to sit in peace. It was surprisingly easy to move through the crowds – one look at the thunderous expression on the Darigan Lupe’s face and people quickly got out of his way. One Chia eyed him anxiously before hurrying away in the opposite direction, quickly losing herself in the mass of people.

     There was a corner of the park that wasn’t as well cared for as the rest. A small copse of trees stood in a clump back here, their Bython-like roots twisting out of the earth. A thick undergrowth of brambles had sprung up, and none of the parkkeepers had bothered to clear them. A gnarled old bench stood precariously by these trees, a shroud of brambles deterring even the most exhausted people from sitting there. Selwick made quick work of them, though, slashing furiously at them with his claws until his paws were raw and the brambles were banished to the depths of the thicket. Scarcely noticing the pain in his scratched paws, Selwick sat, placing his tattered backpack carefully on the dusty ground by his feet, and tried to be alone, pointedly ignoring the celebrations that were happening everywhere else in the park.

     Before too long, a pretty Tyrannian Chomby with a freckled face ambled by, carrying a carefully packed picnic basket. Selwick glared at her, but she merely smiled sweetly and took a seat at the opposite end of the bench, carefully setting her picnic basket on her lap. Selwick tried to ignore her, but out of the corner of his eye, he could see her opening the picnic basket. She picked out a couple of cupcakes, both a vibrant shade of purple. One was decorated with a miniature version of Fyora’s crown, and the other with a miniature pair of wings that mimicked those of Fyora herself. The Chomby seemed to consider them for a moment, before wordlessly offering one to Selwick. He sniffed, unimpressed, and shook his head.

     He wondered why, if she was such a big Fyora fan, she’d chosen to sit on the fringe of the festival, rather than joining in all of the fun with the others. Did she not realise he wanted to be alone? Why couldn’t she go and celebrate with her own friends?

     A sudden idea popped into his head. He knew how he could get rid of her.

     “What has Fyora ever done for us?” he wondered aloud.

      ***

      Bromwyn stood bashfully outside of the park gates, clutching her picnic basket close. When she’d woken up that morning to a glorious blue sky and radiant sunshine, she had been excited to pack up a picnic and head to the park to join the Fyora Day celebrations, but now she was feeling a little foolish. It seemed that nobody else had attended alone. Families congregated on picnic blankets on the manicured grass, and surly groups of teenagers sat around the edge of the fountain, ignoring the polite signs that asked them not to throw coins into the water. Couples strolled along the gravel pathways, arm in arm, lost in each other’s company.

     Ignoring the urge to turn around and go home, Bromwyn stepped into the park. She wandered around for a while, hoping to find a spare patch of grass to lay out her picnic basket, but the park was so busy that she was completely out of luck. She nibbled on her lip as she surveyed the park, eventually spotting a small thicket of trees in a shadowy corner. No one had even bothered to decorate the area properly, which was perfect, because it meant there would be space for her to sit down.

     It turned out she was wrong. When she had eventually weaved her way through the crowd to get to the bench, she found it was already occupied by a sullen-looking Darigan Lupe. He had a tattered backpack resting by his feet with the name Selwick scrawled messily along one of the straps in black marker. She dithered for a moment, wondering if she dared to sit down, and eventually decided that she would. She flashed him a smile and sat as far away from him as possible, plonking her picnic basket on her lap and picking out a couple of the Fyora cupcakes she had baked the day before. They were both a pretty shade of violet and decorated with wings and crowns. She could feel the Lupe’s eyes on her, and half-heartedly offered one over to him. He snorted rudely and shook his head, shifting further away from her.

     “What has Fyora ever done for us?” he asked.

     ***

     “I beg your pardon?”

     Selwick glanced over at the Tyrannian Chomby. He could see that her name was neatly printed in careful script on the handle of her picnic basket: Bromwyn. She looked completely taken aback by his question.

     “What has Fyora ever done for us?” Selwick repeated. He gestured around to the festivities, which had somehow become even busier since he had arrived.

     “She’s done lots of things for us,” Bromwyn replied.

     “Such as..?”

     “Well. No one knows when exactly the faeries arrived in Neopia, but when they did get here they fought bitterly amongst themselves. Then Fyora stepped up to be queen, and now there’s been peace between the faeries for centuries.”

     “That happened literally a thousand years ago. But fine,” Selwick conceded. “Aside from making peace between the faeries – which I don’t think has benefited most Neopians in any way at all – what has Fyora ever done for us?”

     “Uniting the faeries did help us,” Bromwyn argued. “For a start, Fyora has shown remarkable tolerance towards the dark faeries. Her allowing them to live peacefully in Neopia has meant that they’re no threat to us. Although admittedly they could be nicer.”

     “Okay. So aside from making peace between the faeries and keeping us safe from the wrath of the dark faeries, what has Fyora ever done for us?” Selwick asked.

     “Seriously?” Bromwyn rolled her eyes. “What about all of the good things she has done for the Faerieland economy? She launched the Faerieland employment agency – so far the only employment agency that exists in the whole of Neopia. That’s pretty impressive. But that’s not all. She also personally runs the shop in The Hidden Tower to generate even more money for Faerieland.”

     Selwick sniffed, decidedly unimpressed. After all, what’s the point of a tower if it’s hidden?

     “Fine. So aside from making peace between the faeries, protecting us from dark faeries, implementing an employment agency and boosting the Faerieland economy with the goods sold in The Hidden Tower, what has Fyora ever done for us?”

     “Loads of things!” Bromwyn exploded. “She’s more likely than any other monarch in Neopia to get involved in other land’s affairs when there’s trouble. Remember that little problem we had just a few short miles away, in Meridell, with The Darkest Faerie? Who was it who came to our rescue?”

     Bromwyn folded her arms across her chest, confident that she had triumphed over the moody Darigan Lupe in their battle of words.

     “Tormund and Roberta,” he answered.

     Bromwyn heaved a deep sigh. “And what was the magical tool they used?”

     “Fyora’s Rod,” Selwick muttered, quietly.

     “And who turned The Darkest Faerie into stone and threw her into the ocean?”

     “Fyora,” Selwick replied, more quietly still.

     “And,” said Bromwyn, really beginning to warm to her theme now, “after The Darkest Faerie returned and was turned to stone again, who kept her statue in her own private garden so she could personally keep an eye on her while simultaneously keeping all of Neopia safe? Who was it who cast the initial barrier spell to protect all of Neopia from the wraiths? Who was it who founded the annual faerie festival every month of gathering? Who was it who has been voted Neopia’s Most Magical Monarch in EVERY opinion poll since records began?”

     “Fyora.”

     By now the Darigan Lupe’s voice was so quiet that Bromwyn could scarcely hear it over the sound of the cheer and chat in the rest of the park. At least, Bromwyn noticed with satisfaction, he had the grace to look ashamed of himself.

     “But,” said the Lupe suddenly. “Aside from making peace between the faeries, protecting Neopians against the threat of dark faeries, setting up an employment agency, running the Hidden Tower to boost the economy of Faerieland, getting involved in other land’s affairs to help protect them from trouble, crafting a weapon that was ultimately used to destroy The Darkest Faerie, casting aforementioned Darkest Faerie into the ocean for a thousand years, helping to defeat The Darkest Faerie again, casting the barrier spell to protect all of Neopia from wraiths, founding the annual Faerie Festival each autumn and being repeatedly voted Neopia’s Most Magical Monarch… What has Fyora ever done for us?”

     “Oh, for Fyora’s sake!” Bromwyn snapped. She angrily threw the sandwich she had been eating back into her picnic basket and flounced off, quickly disappearing into the crowd.

     Selwick allowed himself a brief moment of celebration as he watched her go, before furtively looking around to make sure that no one was watching him. He was in luck. No one was paying him even the slightest bit of attention. Finally alone, he reached into his tattered backpack and pulled out the pretty, sparkling Fyora Day muffin that he had packed that morning.

     “Happy Fyora Day,” he muttered to himself, devouring it in a bite.

     Then he sat back to enjoy the rest of the celebration alone in the sunshine.

     The End.