A confection of pink and purple trimmed with cream and gold greeted us, her voice nearly as youthful as Twilight’s. “Good morning and welcome to Canterlot Palace, all of you.” The tone was warm and slightly humorous in a knowing way. After all, I was the only stranger present; the other two were familiar faces and present or former habituées of the palace. “Please come in.”
This, then, was Mi Amoré Cadenza, the one princess I’d expected not to meet today. To an even greater extent than Twilight, she looked distinctly different from her counterpart, whom I’d met during my initial investigation after being assigned to ride herd on Sunset and company. Aside from the obvious equine-human differences, I realized after a moment’s scrutiny, she was more sharp-featured and less rounded.
In the formality of the moment, bows were exchanged, followed by more familiar greetings. Shining Armor and his wife did not touch, limiting themselves to sweet mutual smiles, before he and his subordinates arranged themselves to block the door as the rest of us passed. With everypony else’s eyes on me, I too bowed, more deeply than Twilight, less so than Sunset. “Your Serene Highness, it is a great and unexpected pleasure to meet you today.”
When I looked up again, her expression was impish and her eyes danced. “Especially the ‘unexpected’ part, I imagine.” Close up, I could see a latent tiredness in her eyes and hear it in her tone. No wonder, being only recently crowned a ruler and a new mother to boot.
I choked down a snicker, covering it in a clearing of the throat. “Your Serene Highness is most perceptive. I hope your daughter is well and thriving.”
She laughed delightedly. “Now that you’ve greeted me, just ‘ma’am’ is acceptable for a formal setting like this. And yes, thank you, Flurry Heart is doing fine; she probably is terrorizing the palace nursery even as we speak!”
I couldn’t help it; I laughed aloud, as did her sister-in-law. Even Sunset cracked a nervous smile.
Cadance stepped back and turned, leading us into the surprisingly modest chamber, dominated by a simple but beautifully crafted table, and allowing her husband to shut the doors behind us. Low cushioned stools with small rounded backs, better suited to equine fundaments than taller chairs, surrounded the table.
I looked to the table’s far end—and froze. There was no comparison between a pair of minor bureaucrats running a high school and the two . . . forces of nature seated in this room.
To the right of the table’s head, Luna towered over the three of us, dark and sober, midnight blue and jet black set off by moon-struck silver; stars and tiny nebulae spangled her flowing mane. Her eyes brimmed with spirit and determination, her small smile with melancholy and merriment, all tempered in the fires of a bitter personal journey to redemption. Here was the Walker of Dreams, the prodigal and returned, the warrior and guardian. It was all I could do to turn my eyes anywhere else.
At the head itself, Celestia loomed like a cloud, like the dawn, bright cumulus white and lambent pastels glowing in the promise of a new day sealed with the gold of the sun peeking over the horizon. Her eyes were patient and ageless. Her radiant smile encompassed the turning of centuries and all their travails and joys, witnessing and treasuring the generations as they built a vibrant, prosperous country under her guidance. She was the Mother to the Nation, the one who abided and at long last was rewarded for it, the conscience and memory. I was mesmerized.
Only when a sobbing Sunset flung herself forward did I snap out of it. Her former teacher stood, eyes suspiciously misty, as she galloped across the room, then slid to a halt and leaned against the great strong white arms. The phrase “I’m sorry,” repeated over and over in a choked voice, was barely intelligible, what with a face rubbing unabashedly against an upper arm and the words all but tripping over each other.
Not a one of us moved, or, I suspect, wanted to move. In a gentle, eerily familiar voice, Celestia murmured tenderly, “Hush, my dear wayward student. I know.” Her head lowered, and she nuzzled Sunset’s mane comfortingly as the filly—for such she was in this fraught moment—cried herself out, shivering with the intensity of it.
We held a respectful silence until Sunset fell back on her haunches, heedless of protocol, and blinked her eyes to clear them.
“Feeling better?” Luna then asked dryly but not unkindly.
Sunset’s eyes flew wide. “Omigosh! Princess Luna!” I was reminded she’d never met the moon princess before, having fled through the portal before Luna’s return. She scrambled up to bow hastily and not very neatly. I noticed her string tie and the dickey under it had come askew.
I wasn’t the only one. Celestia smiled and, with the golden glow I’d heard tell of, tidied Sunset’s garments, straightening the dickey and re-tying the tie. “These are lovely, Sunset, and very flattering.”
“Th-thank you. Rarity—the Canterlot High Rarity—tailored the suit I was wearing before we came through the portal.”
“Hmm.” Celestia eyed the clothing critically. “Yes, I can see the style. It does look like something our Ponyville Rarity might have created. How very interesting.”
It really was, but pondering it was a matter for another time and place. For now, all of us had more urgent considerations. Celestia glanced at her sister, who also rose, and they approached to face me from their intimidating heights.
At least the tearful reunion had given me time for my own recovery. I bowed deeply to both sisters. “Your Royal Highness. Your Illustrious Highness.” Celestia and Luna nodded gravely in return, one after the other, as I addressed them.
With that, I drew another deep breath and launched into the ritual of a diplomat meeting a foreign head of state for the first time—specifically, presenting my letter of credence. After a brief, and rather embarrassing, attempt to figure out how to levitate them out of my pannier, I resorted to stretching my neck back to fetch them out with my lips. My face burned hotly, but charitably none of the princesses took notice. Even Sunset, I saw out of the corner of my eye, bit her lip and held her tongue.
The first sealed copy I offered to Celestia, the second to Luna. The third, unsealed, copy went directly to Twilight, acting not only as a royal in her own right but as the de facto foreign minister. I had no copies for Cadance, and winced internally at the oversight.
Three different glows bore the envelopes to their recipients, and three different pairs of eyes read the contents. Most of it was diplomatic boilerplate, stilted and standard. Celestia looked at Luna, who nodded, and past me to Twilight, who also must have nodded, because she looked down at me and spoke.
“Thank you, Mister Cookie Pusher. We have read your letter of credence and accept it. You are accredited thereby as chargé d’affaires en pied representing your nation to ours.”
I nearly fell, weak with relief. I’d passed the first hurdle.
You have a pretty interesting setup so far ("first contact" stories are always fun if done well), and I'm looking towards seeing how the meeting goes and what sort of agreements can be hammered out - and what it will mean for both worlds.
Though you also have lots of backstory to fill as well - how did the human government discover Equestria and what was the initial reaction? How did things get from there to sending delegates over? What does everyone hope to gain from the current interactions? Why does the guy keep mistakenly referring to Twilight as some sort of a minister instead of Princess (misunderstanding on his part/Twilight, ever the humble, having downplayed her own role?) - and so on.
In other words you have a good framework with lots of potential, but you should probably consider adding some filling before forging onwards too much :)
Good start never the less, and I'm looking towards more.
7774632
Cookie Pusher is introduced in the most recent installment of my immediately preceding entry, Lectern’s New and Used Books, under the title “Striped Pants”. In it he provides the girls a brief explanation, which boils down to “someone noticed some weird Youtube videos and social-media posts, someone else noticed odd satellite images, another agency investigated to put pieces together, and, well, here I am.”
Opening diplomatic relations, even if, as in this case, there can be little or no other regular interaction, is only prudent—especially considering what has come through the portal (or might do so) to pose a threat. Certainly that’s the view of Cook’s superiors, and as he points out in his initial meeting with the girls, it works both ways: What if Equestria needed to contact them?
Keep in mind that “princess” is a rank, not a position. I grant the distinction is subtle, but it is important. Cook knows full well Twilight ranks as a princess, and repeatedly refers to her as such throughout the story. He also knows—based on such things as the events in “Party Pooped”—Twilight at least sometimes fulfills duties normally assigned to the position of foreign minister, and in her case ambassador at large. Note that he even differentiates between rank and position explicitly: “The third, unsealed, copy went directly to Twilight, acting not only as a royal in her own right but as the de facto foreign minister.” (Emphasis added, and I did reword “effective” as “de facto”.)
In standard diplomatic practice, as a chargé Cook should be meeting at the ministerial level; normally only ambassadors present their credentials directly to heads of state. However, even ambassadors are expected to provide unsealed copies of their letters of credence to foreign ministers. It’s all very irregular, but Cook is doing his level best to adhere to the standards and practices hammered into him through his training for the foreign service.
. . . Also, I didn’t want to add another character, much less one made up out of whole cloth, to the story.
That is the biggest and most difficult difference to explain away between the two worlds: Principal Celestia and Vice-Principal Luna are just teachers at a suburban high school. The Royal Pony Sisters are immortal diarchs and, depending on your headcanon, definitely ageless, possibly immortal and certainly quasi-divine in nature.
I'm not sure a trained diplomat would have slipped on form of address like that¹, but I could put it down to nerves and his limited experience. Although I have to give you props for actually addressing it and not simply continuing the overuse of "Highness."
1: You use Your Majesty/Highness once and then switch to Sire, Sir or Ma'am. This is something a _lot_ of authors on FiMFiction get wrong.
8222228
Cook is erring on the side of caution. As he notes, he wan’t expecting to encounter Cadance. Moreover, while he has a decent amount of background on Equestria, including styles and usages, he has almost none on any other nation on the far side of the portal, including Cadance’s realm. Until he’s given explicit permission, he can’t assume he can revert to a less formal salutation. I may insert a statement to that effect into the narrative.
In an early journal post here on Fimfiction, I specifically mention the very point you bring up, for the very reason you bring it up, along with a little history on how it evolved.
I was about to ask what the variation in titles meant, but the author's note cleared everything right up. I find it very interesting that I'm not the only one who has the princesses differ in their exact statuses in stories. It is one of those details that really add a sense of completion to the world.