My Farrier Lady, Sunspot
The Fire
“He’s late.” Spot leaned back in her seat at the bar and licked the froth off her upper lip. “You’d think that since we have to schedule an appointment with His Royal Highness, Prince Nails, he would at least be on time.”
“The wife has been giving him some… headaches,” admitted Hammer. “I caught him opening the shop early twice now, with the forge blowing at full blast and him hammering away on an order. I think Lady Iolite is trying too hard to advance among her peers, and Nails is caught in the pinch. It’s probably nothing.”
“Nothing you’re going to talk about behind his back,” said Spot. She blew out her breath and leaned a little closer, feeling like a soft furnace against Hammer’s side. “I’ve seen it at work before. The nobility make a petty game out of it at times. Some lowborn marries a noble and everything’s all sweetness and light on the surface, but beneath it, they talk. The whole bunch is nasty as a flock of hungry ravens, all ripping and tearing at their defenseless victim without him even knowing about it.”
The proper term for a flock of ravens was an Unkindness, a fitting term for what Spots was describing and which made the mental image of what Nails was going through only worse. The remains of his kabob no longer looked very appetizing, and Hammer put it down on the greasy plate with a quiet thump. “This talk. Do they ever accept him? I mean do you think Lady Iolite’s family will? From nose to tail, Nails is a good stallion with a huge heart, he just doesn’t complain when things go against him. I mean since you work in the palace and hear things…”
“I try not to.” Spot took a very small sip of her tankard, seeming unusually glum. “Maybe he will. In the end, relationships come down to two ponies. If they care for each other, all the forces in the universe cannot tear them apart.”
Her simple words ripped holes in Hammer’s heart. Some nights it seemed as if the entire world forced itself between them, but he could not imagine a time spent without her. Over the last few years, he had grown so close to a mare that he only saw a few times a week, at best, and yet they were so different in so many ways. Including secrets about her family that hurt too much to share, even with him. In the end, it did not matter, as long as they had each other.
“No matter their differences.” Hammer slipped the onion off his kabob and moved it to Spot’s side of the platter before taking another bite.
“No matter anything,” said Spot before slurping up the loose onion and chewing with an improved demeanor. “Remind me sometime to tell you the tale of Ambassador Gretta from Griffonstone and Lord…” She thought for a long moment before Hammer yielded to her unspoken request and popped the last of his pearl onions into her mouth. “Weighstone,” finished Spot through her chewing.
“Not familiar with that branch,” said Hammer, who had begun to work on the remains of his kabob since his appetite had returned at the same time the sparkle had reappeared in Spot’s eyes. “Nails was looking through about every noble branch down to the twigs. I should remember.”
“It’s been… a few years.” Spot dismissed the discrepancy with a royal wave of her greasy hoof. “Scandals like that get talked about forever. And speaking of scandalous young stallions,” she added as Nails slipped in the front door of the bar, looking quite handsome in his tuxedo.
“Can’t stay for long,” Nails managed once he reached the table and slid into his bench seat. “Managed to get tickets for the opera tonight. I’m actually skipping out on a pre-party with tiny cucumber sandwiches and dry crackers. Ohthatsgood,” he managed after sinking his teeth into the fresh kabob that Stout had brought over.
“I still have trouble seeing you at fancy dinner parties,” mused Hammer. “The last and only one you invited me to had this stallion in the bathroom who holds towels and just looks at you afterward, like you haven’t gotten your hooves washed enough. Just because I always smell a bit like a sweaty forge.”
Spot giggled and gave him a sniff. “It’s not that bad at all. The perfume of the working stallion.”
“That’s part of the reason I was late. Had to shower twice to get that perfume out,” said Nails while tucking a second napkin over his tuxedo cummerbund. “I would have invited you two along to the opera if I had been able to get the tickets. Like a double-date.”
That elicited a giggle and the most diabolical expression of crafty glee from Spot. “You want?”
“Want what?” Nails placed the empty skewer back on the tray and wiped his face with a napkin. “What part of sold out don’t you understand? I’m still going to have to hustle to the ticket counter at the theatre so I can get a good spot in line just to wait an hour for the discounted tickets I bought. At least I won’t starve now. You two lovebirds just sit here and chirp, maybe lift a beer for me. I need to hit the head before I go.”
Stout ran a tight bar with a clean bathroom, or at least it was this early in the night, so there were no drunks standing in line. Silver Nails was back at their table to say his goodbyes in relatively short order. He obviously did not expect to see Hammer and Spot standing up and getting ready to leave, and practically scurried over to see what was wrong.
“Everything’s fine, Nails.” Spot patted the upset stallion on one sleeve and smiled. “You just missed one very special fact.”
“Two,” said Hammer. “You know that egg whisk we got you for a wedding present? That was me. Spot forgot.”
“But you forgot I work at the palace, so I’m getting your slightly delayed wedding present tonight,” continued Spot.
* * *
His father had often said, “It is a poor farrier who wears used shoes.” That sounded far less humorous now. Somehow, the suit Hammer had worn to the wedding was not suitable for listening to a bunch of costumed performers bellow out lines in a language he did not even speak. Spot had vanished from his house while he was showering (twice) and shown back up before he had even gotten toweled dry, holding matching his and hers black silk cravats. She had also tied her mane up in a short bob at the back of her neck, and was wearing a pair of dark-rimmed glasses, which made for an effective disguise from gossipy coworkers at the palace, he presumed. It was a minimalist approach for both of them, which worked far better than trying to find a suitable tuxedo and dress on short notice, and Hammer did not mind one bit.
The Canterlot Opera House was a gleaming monument to all of the things that made the mountain city great, or at least in the eyes of the unicorn nobility. Towering marble pillars, translucent crystal decor, beautiful lighting, billowing silk curtains, gemstone traceries on every surface, carpet so deep that even Hammer sank in up to his oversized ankles, it all should have combined to overwhelm a simple town farrier. Well, Golden Hammer had to admit to being whelmed, at the very least. It would have been hard to pretend ambivalence when he was sneaking peeks upwards at the huge crystal chandelier or smiling genteelly at various important ponies, none of whom recognized him outside of the farrier shop.
To be honest, Golden Hammer could have been just as happy taking Spot to see a movie, if not for seeing how happy Nails had been over their gift.
An usher fully dressed in a tasseled suit and matching flat cap escorted the two of them to their seats, reasonably close to the stage and a position among Nails’ peer group that he would have been very proud of acquiring. Lady Iolite did not come from a very wealthy House, and the allowance that she received from her family went up in flames like dragonfire in dry leaves every month, leaving Nails to scrimp for every tenth-bit he could save. Or whatever Hammer could spare from the shop.
While getting comfortable in his seat, he had to wonder how many of the other well-dressed ponies around them were in similar positions, shaving tenth-bits and eating oat porridge so they could wear silk among their peers. It did explain one difficulty he frequently had at work where supposedly wealthy ponies insisted on paying with post-dated bank drafts or delaying their visits until shoes were worn thin and nails practically rattled in their holes.
He put it all aside. There were far more important things to think about this evening.
“This is nice,” said Spot, leaning in his direction and rubbing up against his neck.
“Nice? I think you deserve a better word than just nice,” he murmured back into her ear, which gave him an exquisitely pleasant thrill to see twitch with every word. “So many fancy ponies in the palace and you want to spend the evening with a smelly horseshoe wrangler, listening to foreign ponies bellow out old songs.”
“The opera is nice,” admitted Spot nuzzling up under his chin. “Having you with me is beyond words.”
They could have been alone, just the two of them in the crushed velvet seats, with the rest of the rich and haughty crowd filtering into the opera house merely a dream. But Hammer’s dreams were never this pleasant. Still, after breathing in Spot’s unmistakable scent for a time, he had to crane his neck to look back and up.
“Did Twilight get settled in the box with M’lord and M’lady?” asked Spot without looking.
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen Nails happier.” Hammer studied what he could see of Lady Iolite and Lord Nails sitting next to each other in the theatre box, with Twilight Sparkle to one side. The student had grown so much over the short time Hammer had known her, from the awkward filly who had welded her shoes to the palace floor so often, to a young bookish mare with an eager approach to life.
She was, of course, taking notes. Some things never change.
“Can’t believe you did that,” murmured Hammer under his breath. Since Spot was snuggled up under his chin with one fuzzy ear tickling his nose, she heard him easily.
“Did what?” She arched her neck and rubbed against him, much like a huge cat. “Celestia’s not attending the opera tonight, so the Royal Box is available for Twilight Sparkle’s education in culture. I just… passed along a few favors so Nails and Lady Iolite could be her escort.” She stuck up one hoof over the back of the seat and waved in the general direction of the Princess’ booth, and to Hammer’s inner joy, he could see Nails discreetly wave back.
Just for the sake of opera etiquette, Hammer rolled his eyes before saying, “No, I mean he’s going to be absolutely insufferable at work for weeks. His Royal Highness, the Prince of Nails.”
There was a certain visceral pleasure to have Spot giggling while tucked under his chin. It made him giggle in response, which made her giggle, and it was only their surroundings that kept Hammer from relishing that feeling with a few gentle tickles of his own to encourage the easily encouraged while they waited for the opera to begin.
“It’s so nice to get to the theatre again. With a date, for a change.” Spot wriggled a little further up so she could whisper directly into his ear. “Want to hear a secret that you can’t tell anypony, particularly not Twilight?”
Hammer’s heart nearly stopped, although a moment’s thought let him breathe again. This did not seem to be any of the secrets that tied her sensitive nerves in knots, but more of an inner delight that she just had to share or burst.
“Shining Armor and Princess Cadence,” she whispered. “They’re dating.”
That was a secret well worth some giggles, and he could see why keeping the news from Twilight Sparkle was so important.
“It must be like watching two lovesick hedgehogs around the palace,” he admitted in a very quiet whisper. “Have they figured out who is pursuing who yet?”
“I don’t know either,” said Spot in nearly a suppressed squeak. “They both cornered me on the same day, one after another, and had the most adorable ‘she loves me, she loves me not’ discussion. Well, they talked, I listened. Young love. It’s going to be epic, that’s for certain.”
It was adorable to think of those two trying to maneuver together, the over-enthusiastic young princess and the over-serious young Royal Guard, each trying their best to guess the other’s moves and winding up in a delightful muddle of embarrassing situations, but it made Hammer cast a curious glance upwards in the direction of the Royal Box. If he had not known better, Hammer could have mistaken the three unicorns sitting together for a family, with an older daughter quietly chatting with her father while the mother looked absently off into the theatre at nothing in particular.
It had been impossible for Hammer to not know about Nails’ marriage issues, because he was the only friend available to provide pressure relief. Money was involved, of course, because being in the nobility was a giant sucking wound in the wallet. Nails was a shrewd money manager, and did the books for the business with a precision that would not have been out of place in a bank, but his wife always had unexpected expenses, either her own or something undetermined involving her family. Twice Nails had caught her writing checks for cash out of the middle of the checkbook or transposing numbers in the ledger to make her expenses seem smaller.
Then there was their own family portion of their arguments. Lady Iolite wanted foals, but ‘not right now’ and ‘after the proper preparations’ was not exactly the pace that Nails had expected, so that frustration had been frequently passed along to his best friend and co-worker. The only bright spot was the additional time allowed Nails to save for the birth, or as much as he could with such a spendthrift wife.
The thought of foals brought another sharp pain to Hammer’s gut, muted almost to insignificance by the glorious warmth of the mare nuzzled up under his chin.
“Even if he was a real prince, that wouldn’t solve his problems, I suppose,” mused Hammer.
“It would just make the problems larger,” said Spot. “Trust me.”
“No, I mean when they eventually have foals.” Spot stiffened under his chin, took a deep breath, and leaned against him again. He could not hold her the way he wanted in the theatre, but he could rest one foreleg protectively over hers and remain still. Her anchor. Her protective shield. Her big-mouthed stallionfriend who had to add, “You want foals eventually, don’t you? Even adopting?”
There was a long, long pause before Spot nodded, almost imperceptibly. It was like the entire theatre was empty except for the two of them. Well, and the faint noises from the orchestra pit down by the stage.
“I don’t see why you… need me so much,” murmured Hammer. “Would think you could go wherever you want with this kind of pull. Pick out one of those handsome young noblecolts and take him for a spin. You could probably sit in Princess Celestia’s box, too.”
“And be talked about every day and night at work for the next hundred years, the same way these ponies are talking about Nails. Who exactly is he? What does he want out of her family? Are they scheming something together?” Spot shifted positions slightly to get the tiniest fraction closer to him, or at least as close as the theatre chairs allowed. “All the tiny whispers and gossip are like sharp blades of grass in a green field. It’s pretty, but after you walk through it you’re all bloody and in pain, with cuts that never seem to heal.” She buried her nose into his chest to take a deep breath, then let it out in a satisfied sigh. “Besides, I’d have to find another stallion I could trust. They’re so far and few between in a world full of false hopes and broken promises. Lady Iolite doesn’t know how lucky she is to find Nails.”
After a microscopic shifting of her head to get more comfortable, Spot let out her breath in a heartfelt sigh. “You’re strong, protective, and stable like a big oak tree, and I’m never more comfortable than when I’m resting in your shade.”
Hammer was quiet for a time, listening to the sound of her breathing mixed in with the quiet conversations of the audience getting settled all around them, as well as the occasional musical noise from the orchestra pit. It was comfortable, as well as a good source of anonymity since all of the ponies headed to their seats gave the underdressed snuggling couple no more than a brief glance and an arrogant sniff.
“Comfortable?” he asked quietly after the scurrying of ponies behind the curtain began to settle down, which probably meant the opera was about to start.
Spot gave him a gentle poke in the ribs. “Like a big pillow.”
“Hmm…” The low noise made Spot’s ear twitch, which only gave Hammer a warmer feeling in his chest. “Thought I was a tree. Or an anchor.”
“Pillow for now,” she murmured. “Just don’t let me go to sleep. Been so long since I’ve attended, I don’t want to miss anything.”
“Me neither,” said Hammer, although for a different reason. Pillow or tree or anchor, he was willing to be whatever Spot needed, because she had become what he had not known he needed.
The opera was terrible.
The night was the most wonderful time ever.