I'm kind of in the mood for something a little light. I've started, and yet to finish, some more serious things. It's time to take a break between those.

If there was one thing Prince Siegbert had learned as he accompanied his father on trips between their home country of Nohr, neighboring country of Hoshido, and the newly formed Valla between them, it was to bring paints. It was a little odd to some, but the young Nohrian would rather paint than to spend time with most of the other children of the war between their parents' countries.

It was nothing against the others. Unlike their parents, who had strained relationships at best and complete mistrust of each other at worst, the kids all managed to get along. Some parents, Siegbert's father, King Xander among them, felt it was due to the children not growing up during the course of the war. Instead, each had been placed in their own Deeprealm, to keep them safe, though with the side effect of time passing by more quickly. And even when the children had joined their parents on the field of battle, there had been no hatred towards the other side.

Their arrival near the end of the war, right as the two countries banded together to end the battle against the true enemy, also had to have influence over them as well.

Siegbert liked High Prince Shiro, the two of them could hold serious conversations, but Shiro also was a bit rambunctious. Spending a day with Shiro, and usually Asugi as well, left him feeling drained and as though he had accomplished nothing that day. Midori, Asugi's younger cousin, was wise beyond her age, but also tiring in her own way. Siegbert had once helped her and her father, Kaze, gather herbs. She was talkative and excited and had left Siegbert unsure of where the time had gone.

Around Caeldori... well, he was always left wondering if he had said the wrong thing or wishing he had said something else.

Others, like Mitama, he just saw around the castle or at meals.

The reason he started to bring paints and canvases with him was due to how different the landscapes of the three countries were. What many people did not realize was that Nohr did have sunny days, but even then the landscape was typically the same. In parts of Valla, and especially Hoshido, he was able to use brighter colors, from the pale pinks to vibrant greens, nearly every shade of blue he could imagine, and even oranges, too.

The previous morning, while trying to avoid Prince Shiro, who demanded Siegbert arm wrestle him again after the Nohrian Crown Prince had bested him, Siegbert found a lovely spot he just had to paint. It was too beautiful not to.

He had come to a quiet, secluded area deep in a grove of trees. There was a clear pool, the water cool to the touch, with ores of many colors on the bottom. When the sunlight would trickle through the limbs above, the ores glittered. Tiny fish darted through the waters, or hid in the shade of a young willow tree that overhung the pool, the ends of its canopy barely touched the water's surface.

Siegbert sank down onto the soft grass and drew his knees up. He placed the canvas he had carried with him against his legs, as he had not brought an easel, and began to remove his paints and brushes from their pouch.

He was unsure of where to begin and studied the scene before him for a minute or two. After he made his decision, he unscrewed the cap of one of his jars of blue paint with a content sigh.

As he began to paint, his mind wandered. Often, he found himself doubting his abilities, and not just with paint. Sure his paintings were praised, and many of the landscapes he did hung throughout Castle Krakenburg, including two in his parents' bedchamber, but he wound up seeing every flaw and every mistake in them. When he pointed them out, people assured him they did not see the faults he did. He was not only commended for his talents, but he often heard remarks of how he was certainly his father's son.

It did no good to point out that King Xander was likely to be more skilled with a paintbrush than Siegbert felt he would ever be. His father was more skilled at everything, and Siegbert knew he would never catch up, much less surpass his father.

So many people told him not to compare himself to Xander, including his own parents. Yet so many often also said he was exactly like the king, except his hair color, which the same people often pointed out was all he had obtained from his mother.

Siegbert paused as he thought. His brush hovered over the canvas; he slowly lowered it and began to brush more blue along the canvas. His strokes were slow as his mind wandered. What concerned the young prince more than anything was how much of the praise that others heaped on him was false? How much did the kind words have to do with his title or who his parents were? He knew, as any royal would, that there would always be some people around who cared less about Siegbert and more about the crown prince aspect.

He stopped to clean off his brush and uncap the jars of green paint. "Why do I do this?" he asked himself. "I came here to paint, not make myself sorrowful."

It was then he decided he would empty his mind. There was no need to put a sour mood into his painting. With a nod to himself, he turned the canvas so he could start painting the grass. He had not been painting for long, but his hands were beginning to show it. Flecks of blue and green dotted his fingers, but he paid little attention to it.

As he painted again, he began to hum. It was nothing familiar, just noise that the young prince did not seem to notice he was making. With his mind clear, thanks in part to the peacefulness of his surroundings, Siegbert focused only on the art he created. He did not hear the occasional tweet from a nearby bird or the buzz of a dragonfly as it skimmed along the still water. He did see it, and considered for a moment to paint it in, but he was not sure it would turn out well.

Landscapes were one of his favorite things to draw or paint, and while the dragonfly would be a lovely touch, he felt he did not get a good enough look at it to truly make it fit with the rest of the painting.

He looked up again and absently tapped the side of the paintbrush against his cheek as he considered what part he would add next. He did not notice his legs were starting to fall asleep as he reached for a light brown. Nor was he aware of how long it had been since he had been out there. The breakfast he had eaten was some time ago.

He was pleased with the progress of his painting. Though it would need touching up, what uncompleted painting did not? He had a long way to go, but a base was what he needed. Even if he returned to the same spot the next day, there would be minor changes from the scene before him. He wanted to capture the moment as it was. The finer details could be added from memory after the base completely dried.

As he reached to uncap another jar of paint, he paused. A large, red butterfly had landed on the rim of the open jar of blue paint. "No, no," Siegbert told it. "You shouldn't get in there." He brushed at it with his hand. The butterfly fluttered off the jar and landed on a nearby stone. The prince wondered if he should close all of his paints to keep the butterfly safe. Closing and opening the jars over and over would become messy and difficult to do if his fingers were wet with paint. He would just have to try to keep an eye on the beautiful insect.

With each stroke of his brush, details in the painting began to form. Time slipped by as Siegbert painted, adding more and more to the canvas before him. In the stretch of time he was working on his art, the sun rose, settled overhead, then started its descent towards the western horizon. Siegbert's canvas was covered, though the fine details had yet to be completed, when he was startled by the beating of a Pegasus's wings.

He glanced up at the sky and watched as a Pegasus and rider circled then dropped lower and lower until the creature's hooves touched the ground. "Ah, I've found you, Prince Siegbert!" Caeldori slid from her mount sounding very pleased with herself.

"You've been looking for me?" Siegbert asked. He carefully moved his painting from his knees and stood. His legs were all pins and needles. He stretched and tried to regain the feeling in his limbs.

"Yes. Everyone has been asking where you've been, including your mother. I told them I'd try to find you." Her Pegasus whinnied as if to add that she had also aided in the search.

"Oh," Siegbert began as he realized just how much time had passed. "Oh, no. I had not meant to worry anyone, much less my mother." He dropped to his knees and began to collect his things. Caeldori hurried over to help him. She knelt beside him and reached for a jar of paint but stopped when she saw what he had been working on.

"Wow," she said breathlessly. Her fingers shook a little as she reached for the canvas. "This is beautiful!"

He warned her that it was still wet. She carefully took the canvas by the edges and held the painting up to study it. Siegbert stood and went to her side. Now that she held it up, he could see a few mistakes.

"It isn't finished," he muttered. "And I've messed up here - " Before he could point out the error in his work, she pushed his finger away.

"Do you think - when it's finished of course - I could have it?"

"You want it?"

She nodded earnestly. "It's truly wonderful! I have the perfect place for it in my room!" The excitement on her face faded as quickly as it had come. "I'm so sorry, Siegbert, I didn't think to ask if you wanted to keep it yourself."

He heard himself chuckle. "No, I never keep anything I paint. If you really like it, then it is yours."

The warm smile returned to her face as she thanked him. She held his incomplete work as he gathered the rest of his belongings. The more she looked, the more little details she noticed. "You even painted the little fish!" she exclaimed.

"I did, and the ore as well."

"Oh, you did!"

Her joy at the painting, even unfinished, made him feel somewhat better about his talent with the brush. She reluctantly handed it to him when they were ready to return to the castle. He thought she would ride back, but she took her Pegasus's reins and led her. The winged horse was not pleased to walk and snorted before following Caeldori's lead.

Siegbert promised Caeldori he would have the painting finished before his family departed. His remaining evenings in Hoshido were spent adding small details to the painting. Two nights before his family were set to return to their home, he approached Caeldori with the painting. His stomach was a bundle of nerves. Now that it was complete, would she still like it?

"Is it done? May I see?" She clapped her hands together and leaned forward eagerly. Her glee undid his nerves a little bit. He turned the canvas around to show her.

She found herself at a loss for words, but her expression said everything. Her mouth fell open in awe; her eyes sparkled. Her fingers shook a bit as she took it from him. It looked so real. The ore seemed to sparkle. Caeldori almost expected the tiny fish to swim before her. She could just imagine a faint breeze, rustling against the grass and the willow tree. "Are you certain... I can have this? Surely your mother and father...?"

Siegbert shook his head. "You asked for it, so it is yours."

She smiled at him, a small smile that did not fully convey how much she loved the painting. "Will you help me hang it? I want to know what you think of where I want to put it."

Her question surprised him. He had never been in Caeldori's room before, but she truly wanted his opinion. He nodded and followed her down the hall. She asked him to open her door. He smiled at the request. She did not want to let the painting go.

He tried not to linger in her doorway and focused on the walls, but the black furnishings and pink accents did catch his attention. He was not surprised, after all. Caeldori really seemed to like pink. The well-loved plush Pegasus on the end of the bed made him smile.

"I was thinking there." Caeldori's voice took his attention from the toy. She was pointing over the desk on the far wall. He agreed it would be a good place to hang the painting. There, it would be seen very easily. With Siegbert sharing her opinion, she told him she would be right back.

Being left alone in her room made him a little uncomfortable and very nervous. What would her father, or his, think if either caught him there? The time Caeldori was gone felt like it was hours instead of minutes. He stayed by her desk, the painting propped against it, not daring to touch anything until she returned with a hammer and nails.

She pulled out the chair, but Siegbert stopped her before she could climb on it. "I'll do it," he told her. He did not wish to see her fall. He was also taller than she was and reach higher to hang the painting. He leaned forward and touched one of the nails to the wall. "How about here?"

Caeldori leaned back and nodded her agreement. She held tight to his right leg, her fingers digging into the fabric of his pants. It was her way of keeping him steady, though the young prince just found it sweet.

He hammered one nail into the wall then slid his finger along the wall to make sure the second would be even with the first. With both nails in the wall, he reached for the painting. Caeldori passed it to him. With it hanging on the wall, she released her grip and took a step back. "How is it?" he asked. "Is it crooked in any way?"

"It's perfect!"

He hopped down from the chair and joined her. He did not know about 'perfect,' but it was hanging straight. He smiled as she squeezed his hand.

"I don't know if I thanked you enough," Caeldori said. "I truly love it. Now I can be reminded of you whenever I look at it."

Siegbert hoped he was not blushing. What did one say to something like that? "I - I'm really happy you like it so much, Caeldori," he said softly. Inside, he cringed. That sounded so insincere to him!

To Caeldori, it was not. The two of them made small talk for a few minutes longer before Siegbert bade her good night. When he left, she still stood studying the painting that now hung on the wall. As he left, he quietly pulled her door shut behind him. With a small smile and a shake of his head, he hoped she would not stay up all night admiring his work. Her genuine appreciation of it did make him feel wonderful, but he also knew she could not stay there admiring it all the time.

Still... the idea of her doing so did leave him feeling a tiny bit pleased with himself. What truly warmed his heart, however, was knowing that not only did she truly want his work, but that she would, by her own words, be reminded of him every day.