Boom. Boom.
“Brace... brace for… presents,” Fleur mumbled, her eyelids still halfway from opening. “The ice, we have to… break the ice. Canon fire!”
Boom!
She tumbled out of bed, her hind legs tangled in a sail. Where was she? What was happening, who ordered the cannons to fire? She felt the wooden floor of her cabin, realizing that the sail was but a blanket, and that the wood was much softer than she’d expected. Because it was a rug. She followed it closely as she crawled around the bed. Better to lay low in case of any swords swiping or matchlocks shooting. The ship and the crew were nothing without its captain, after all.
By the time she reached the window and drew the curtains, she was awake, and the longer she allowed the bright winter scenery assault her eyes, the less she cared about the assault in her dreams. The ship sailed away, the pirates were gone, and the precious cargo she was so keen on protecting… what was it, again? No one was firing, it was just a pony shuffling the snow off the street. The shovel sounds mercilessly scraping across the pavement were loud and rhythmic, but it was hardly a cannonade. But it was close.
“Fleur, you silly filly,” she chastised herself as she put on a burgundy gown. “Pirates, bah, and on Hearth’s Warming Eve no less! This is supposed to be a season of generosity, not of… robbing and plundering.”
Generosity. That reminded her of a letter on her dressing table which, in turn, reflected how messy her mane was. She allowed herself a moment of vanity at the three-piece mirror. It was a universally accepted truth that mares looked most beautiful in the morning, with no make-up, with their manes undone, and when they were smiling. All four checked—but of course Fleur couldn’t stay a charming sleepyhead forever. Her family had a busy day ahead of them, and if she was guessing it right from the silence in the house, Fancy Pants and Chestnut had already started it.
Her horn shimmered, but in truth it was the brush working its magic, one unruly strand at a time.
Trottingham, December 17th 1206
Dear Fleur,
My sincerest congratulations on becoming a mom! I realize those are long overdue, for which I apologize here and will do so again once we meet. I have been pushing for a lot of work to be done before Hearth’s Warming so I can start the new year with the third boutique up and running. I am actually writing these words as they are bringing in furniture, which is absolutely lovely!
Nevertheless, with my personnel stretched thin, it turned out Sassy and I would be guarding our Canterlot branch on the Eve. How about joining us in the afternoon for a little get-together? As I recall you are passing on the play this year, so I know you are available!
Cordially, I am also extending my invitation to your family. I do hope that it will at least partially absolve me of my absence on your recent Canterlot Elite party. A little bird told me that it has been quite an exciting event, and that your guest of honor has made an impression on our certain mutual acquaintances (and also a different kind of impression on our other acquaintances). But let us spare the ink on this one. I am looking forward to hearing all about it!
RSVP at your earliest convenience. Or simply drop by—we are certainly not going anywhere.
Yours,
Rarity
PS: I may also be working on a little something for New Year’s Eve...
Looking respectable now, Fleur put down the brush and letter.
“Trying to outsource your quality assurance again, are you?” she murmured, giving herself a quick glance in the mirror. “Bien,” she confidently remarked and trotted downstairs.
Hearth’s Warming had always been a curious holiday to Fleur, she realized over a bowl of chocolate-packed cereal, one she didn’t actually celebrate when she was younger. At its core, it was about the founding of Equestria, so other pony nations had no reason to mention it and instead focused on commemorating local events. Of course Equestria’s influence on the ponykind was undeniable, and even understandable with the alicorns in charge, so at some point those local events melded with whatever Hearth’s Warming represented.
Back in Prance it boiled down mostly to adapting its commercial side—decorating a house, playing themed music in the restaurants, or buying presents and then pretending that some spirit brought them. The holiday’s actual meaning was diluted at best. In Pearis, it was the Prench National Day or Fête de la Victoire that her overly patriotic family celebrated the most. Or the annual Criniarmures parade. Or her father’s favorite Flag Day, because vive la République!
Puffing up her cheeks, Fleur exhaled heavily. Perhaps she was still resentful about how they had treated Hearth’s Warming, but she wasn’t going to let her family disrupt her family’s day. A smile returned to her face when she looked outside, where in the garden Fancy Pants, Chestnut, and their friend Rich Card were finishing a formidable snowpony. Rich Card’s wife, Hyacinth, must have had him deliver the invitation to that New Year’s Eve party she was obviously throwing, to which Fleur was pretty much obligated to go. Hyacinth mentioned it several times. However obnoxious she could be, however, Fleur owed her.
She knocked on the window, drawing the attention of a young thestral. “Come inside, there’s tea,” she mouthed and raised a mug. But Chestnut shook her head and instead beckoned Fleur to join her, saying something. “What? I can’t hear you.” She pantomimed a deaf monkey. “No, I’m not bringing it there. The whole point is to get you inside. There’s tea, I mean, I was going to make some.” She pointed to the mug again. Chestnut rolled her eyes, then pointed to her orange scarf, and to the snowpony’s bare neck. Fleur got the message. A sculpture that impressive needed details. “Give me a minute.”
A little more than a minute later, outside, she squinted her eyes at the blinding snow, took a breath of cold winter air—
SPLAT!
—and got an out-of-nowhere snowball straight to the chest.
“Eek!” she squealed in surprise. “Good one, Nutsie! And I thought that years of wearing corsets would have made me tougher. Ow.”
Chestnut flew out from behind a snow-covered shrub. “Whoopsie! Sorry, mom! That wasn’t for you. I was trying to hit dad from the hiding, but he moved, and I didn’t know that, so I guessed and took my chances because he was standing right there by the bench, and hit you instead, but I didn’t mean that,” she frantically explained. “And hey, how did you even know it was me? I thought I was being stealthy.”
“An educated guess. I know for a fact Rich wouldn’t hurt a fly—good morning, Rich, good to see you, and I do remember about the party!—and your father has, well, let’s just say he would’t be invited to hang out with eagles.” She drew a shape of a monocle over her eye. “What’s with the snowballs anyway? Weren’t you building a pony? I got you the fashion upgrade you wanted for him.”
“Rad!” Chestnut snatched the scarf and quickly wrapped it around the sculpture’s neck, completing its looks. “It’s finished! Do you think that’s the biggest snowpony ever?”
Fancy Pants was just done cleaning his monocle. “Why, it’s certainly the biggest snowpony that has ever stood in this garden,” he proudly said. “On a side note, dear, my aim is impeccable.”
“If you’re sitting on the target, perhaps,” Fleur chuckled. “Remember the darts fiasco last summer? Tell us, how many points did you get in a hundred and eighty game, again?”
“Actually, I believe I won that day, dear,” Fancy Pants replied stoically, but with a growing grin. “My score of a hundred and sixty-nine versus, how to put it, yours. And you only had one cider, mind you, therefore, like I said: impeccable.”
Despite the cold Fleur felt her cheeks warming. “Oh. Well, you know, that doesn’t prove you’re good with throwing snowballs or anything. Everyone knows that darts are pure luck anyway,” she tried to dismiss the notion, but the stallion wasn’t letting go.
“Even if that’s true, I suppose I do have a right for retaliation now,” he said teasingly. “Honestly, I’m willing to wager that I am a better thrower than you, and considering the season is proper… I’m willing to put that claim to the test.”
“Is that a challenge?”
“Perhaps.” He threw her a dashing smile. “How about you, Rich? Are you in for a little exercise?”
The balding stallion, who spent most of his life crunching the numbers in the City Council’s Department of Finance, was indeed a perfect guest and hardly a troublemaker.
“Well,” he said unsurely, “only if the lady of the house allows. I have to admit already, though”—he nodded at the snowpony—“I haven’t had that much fun in the snow since Cherry Drum left for college. Hyacinth isn’t really fond of me doing anything in the garden in winter. Unless you count smoothing the snow cape, that is,” he added with a wince, yet never lost any politeness innate to his demeanor. “I suppose I’m in, as long as we’re not teaming up as families. I’d be outnumbered.”
“How about fillies and gentlecolts?” Fancy Pants suggested. “A simple, five minute game. Fleur and I will try to land a snowball on the other. No other hits score. Our teammates need to guard their respective unicorn, draw the fire of the opposing team, and, well, help in any way they see fit. Oh, and no magic allowed.”
“So we win by mom hitting you, and you win by hitting mom, and it doesn’t matter if Mr. Rich or I hit you or get hit ourselves. Sounds fun!” Chestnut exclaimed. “I’m definitely in.”
“Wonderful! In the spirit of good sportsmanship, if either of us get hit, we admit it to the opposing side.”
“That goes without question,” Fleur agreed. “Nous acceptons. May the better duet win.”
The ponies commenced their preparations.
Fancy Pants and Rich Card chose a spot next to the house from which they could easily jump to the porch and get about two feet of height advantage. That must have been their backup plan, Fleur ventured a guess, because they quickly went to piling up snow to make a wall right before the steps. Fleur and Chestnut settled for an untrimmed shrub at the far side of the yard where, unlike the stallions, they were less fortified but had more spots to which they could easily retreat. However, jumping between shrubs and rock gardens meant exposing themselves more often.
A risky gambit, but ever since she woke up, Fleur’s adventurous mood was on for some reason.
“Let’s talk strategy,” she proposed. “Our main advantage is that we’re both mares, so Fancy won’t dare throwing too hard at us, and especially at you. The same goes with Rich—as a guest, he won’t risk getting on our bad side, because Hyacinth wouldn’t let him in for the night if we didn’t accept her invitation he brought. But they will skirmish us, so whenever I’ll be moving between those bushes, or peek out to take a shot, I need you to cover me.”
“Got it. I know I’m good at catching snowballs even with my face, so that may help. Any disadvantagerous things we need to look out for?”
“I hate to admit it, but for someone who needs his monocle to read a sticker on a jar, your dad really has a keen eye. Now that I remember, he pretty much destroyed me at darts that night.”
“Uh-huh.” Chestnut straightened up to watch the stallions, but then swiveled back, trying to sound casually. “Oh, hey, just so I’d know, how many points did you get then?”
“About… twenty-eight?”
The filly’s ears dropped.
“Thirty-two? You know what, let’s not think about it right now!” Fleur said cheerfully. “Come on, help me make some snowballs.”
Chestnut gave a disheartened murmur. “It’s too late to change teams, isn’t it?”
“Ready and set?” they heard the call. “Begin!”
The game was on. At first it was quiet, as both teams were busy strengthening their defenses or producing icy marbles of destruction. As the pile grew large enough, the fillies gained the upper hoof by striking first. They flung a few test shots at the frigid fortress, the walls of which were, as expected, formidable. Soon the stallions responded in kind, if with a less intense flurry due to their need to conserve the snow and definitely not benevolence. Admittedly, Fleur had underestimated Rich—he was throwing high-lobbed snowballs meant to confuse her, and Fancy Pants tried to exploit that with fast, precise strikes.
“I have you now, Fleur!”
“Nope!” Chestnut flew in. “Sorry, dad!”
Chestnut was an excellent protector. She used her hooves, body, even wings to intercept the coming projectiles. It was barely two minutes into the game and she’d already saved Fleur from certain doom a good couple of times. She wasn’t a bad thrower herself, and she contributed her nimbleness and speed to mess with the stallions. They spotted her behind one shrub, she fired, they had to duck behind the wall, and when they were back slinging at that shrub, Chestnut was already crouching behind a rock garden, or another shrub, or somewhere else entirely. She was everywhere and nowhere at the same time, which forced them to keep glancing over the safety of their cover in hopeless search.
“Where is she? Where?”
“Do it, mom, do it!”
She’d given Fleur a couple of good, clean shots, which the mare of course completely blew. She was indeed super terrible at throwing things. Snow splashed all over the house, the porch and the bench, and the impenetrable frost walls. Her lack of progress encouraged the stallions, and they focused their attacks on Fleur, who was highly experienced in standing and promenading, but not ducking and dashing. She didn’t get hit so far, but her stamina was dwindling.
The fifth minute was nearing.
“They got themselves holed up nicely,” Fleur huffed heavily. “Guerrilla tactics will only get us so far.”
“Yeah, I don’t know anything about gorillas, mom,” Chestnut replied, also gasping for breath. “But I don’t think I can keep up much longer. Do we even have a plan at this point?”
Fleur pursed her lips as she desperately searched for a better tactic. She couldn’t stand the thought of losing to her husband now—her personal pride was one thing, but it would make her look bad in front of Chestnut too. They couldn’t keep on running when the stallions were nice and cozy behind cover, true… but if only they could flush them out…
The porch. It had a roof. Which was slightly inclined.
“I got it! Nutsie, come here. You said something about being stealthy? Well, now’s your chance…”
She explained her plan in detail, or at least as precisely as the continuous barrage allowed. Splitting up was a risky strategy, but if Chestnut could get up there then the battle was as good as won. The two of them parted with a hoof bump and dashed in opposite directions. They both had their objectives, but Fleur felt she had it easier—no running, no straining yourself, but simply ensuring that all eyes were on her. Piece of cake.
Fleur power-slid into cover. “I’d hardly call that performance impeccable, husband!”
“It felt only appropriate to grant you some lenience, dear,” Fancy Pants taunted back, throwing one snowball after another. “But you can’t run and hide forever. I see you!”
Fleur rolled a snow patch into a ball. One was all she needed. She flailed her forelegs over the shrub, pretending to be taking a shot, but in truth signaled Chestnut to do her thing. The brave filly had quietly landed on the porch’s roofing, almost exactly over the stallions, in a hoof-deep white quilt. It needed but a push.
“Go ahead, take the shot!” Fancy Pants shouted. “I’m sure it will be worth at least ten—”
“Leg it, Fancy!” Rich Card exclaimed.
The curtain fell with its cold and unforgiving might. In a split second, Fancy Pants and Rich Card jumped to the sides. The latter risked and succeeded as he dived under grinning Chestnut and to the porch, while Fancy Pants saved himself by going into the open.
That was it. Fleur pounced from cover with the snowball held closely to her chest. When their gazes crossed, she realized her husband also had one snowball left. He must have grabbed it while he was making his escape, which meant his thoughts mirrored Fleur’s own: the opponent was exposed. At that one moment, whoever had better reflexes and whoever decided to strike first, would win.
Neither of them did.
Fancy Pants dropped his snowball. “Well played?”
“Well played indeed, husband.” Fleur smiled and did the same. “You can come out now! Rich, Nutsie! I think… I think we’ll just have a draw. Come on, let’s get inside to warm up, shall we?”
That’s how families were supposed to celebrate Hearth’s Warming, Fleur thought. And the best thing was that she didn’t even feel defeated. The front yard might have looked like a battlefield littered with missed shots, her heart was still pounding with the exertion, and she didn’t technically win, but put that aside and she felt like a genuine winner. Not having a snowball splash on your muzzle was a big plus, too. Feeling a loved stallion’s discreet peck on her cheek, however—an even bigger one.
And to think the day had only just begun.