"You can't be serious!"
Princess Celestia was very serious. She had on her most serious face - the one where she locked eyes with Blueblood, leaned forward to slightly loom over him, and frowned deeply while somehow not blinking for minutes at a time. "I am serious. In fact, this is not a request, princeling. If you are going to force my hoof, I can and shall make it an order." She relaxed a little, straightening back up. "I do not wish to, but I will if I must."
Blueblood cringed. "I… I mean. I suppose. If I have to."
"You have to." Princess Celestia's voice brooked no argument on that. "The Bearers of the Elements of Harmony are of critical importance to the safety and security of Equestria. They are also dear friends and solely responsible for my sister's return. So you will go to Ponyville immediately and you will apologize to Miss Rarity for your rude actions." Her firmness gave for a moment as her favorite nephew cringed. "I give you some leeway as you weren't aware of who she was at the time. But apologizing to her - promptly - is non-negotiable."
His eyes darted around the throne room, searching for rescue. There was none - the room was mostly empty as Day Court had ended and the few who remained - almost exclusively guards and castle staff - weren't terribly fond of Blueblood to begin with.
With no other options, Blueblood hung his head. "Yes, Auntie. I understand."
Seconds passed.
Princess Celestia raised an eyebrow. "...You can't apologize to her if you don't leave the throne room."
"Right!" Blueblood's head shot up. "Yes, yes, of course, I should… I should go."
"You should," Celestia confirmed.
Blueblood nodded. "Absolutely."
Celestia's eyes narrowed when he failed to move.
Blueblood got the hint and backed out of the room with a wide, uneasy smile on his face.
The best way to accomplish a humiliating task is to do so without anypony realizing you did it.
While an apology required at least one pony to be aware (otherwise, Blueblood grudgingly admitted, it was too poor of an apology to count), the number didn't need to be any higher than that. And while being subtle was anathema to Prince Blueblood, the situation required all of his guile and stealth to arrive in backwater Ponyville, apologize to Rarity and leave without another soul knowing he was there or the humiliating task he'd been given.
For starters, this meant he would have to sacrifice and only bring one servant.
The choice of which one was obvious - it had to be Posh. Descendant of a long line of butlers, his great-great-great grandfather, Old Spice, had served Blueblood's ancestor. The latest of the line was only slightly older than Blueblood himself, but everything a butler could hope to be: stoic, unflappable, always present when needed, and with a sharp wit that could cut butter while staying dry as a desert.
The other key to being subtle was not to attract attention as he arrived. Normally this would be implausible for a pony of Blueblood's station. But by foregoing the normal pegasus chariot, he could reach Ponyville without anypony being the wiser.
So it was with the utmost confidence that he was undetected, Blueblood stepped off his private train car into the station.
That not a single pony mobbed him with their adoration proved his plan was a complete success. There were a few curious looks here and there, but that was just natural - after all, a stallion of his beauty, traveling with only one servant and by rail? That was a curiosity worth noting, even if they would never be able to tell it was him.
Proudly and with Posh by his side, Blueblood trotted into town. Around him, the village bustled - market day was just ending, and the streets were full of shoppers heading home with their haul. Local artisans and farmers milled about, packing up their stands and remaining goods before heading home for the day. In the distance, the bell over the schoolhouse rang to warn the townsfolk that they would soon be overrun by rambunctious foals in search of amusement.
Another pony might describe it as idyllic.
Prince Blueblood wrinkled his nose. "The roads aren't even paved," he groused.
"They are not, sir." Posh kept his neck straight and his eyes locked ahead. He had to be on high alert - any moment, a small child could careen into his master or a mud puddle might appear and the results would be a far bigger headache than he wanted to deal with right now.
Two more turns, and their destination was in sight. The Carousel Boutique lay only a few dozen pony-lengths ahead, sinfully gaudy and impossible to miss. All Blueblood had to do was go inside, speak a few words and he could be enroute back to Canterlot and respectable society.
Both Blueblood and Posh were forced to pause as a pair of pegasus movers crossed the road ahead of them, carrying a large mirror that blocked the thoroughfare. Blueblood took the opportunity to admire himself, putting on his third best stunning smile as practice. (Rarity, he presumed, did not deserve better than third.)
Then the mirror moved past and the world screeched to a halt.
He was there. Blueblood had never seen the stallion before in his life - but he wasn't sure he was truly alive before. It was as if the clouds had parted and given him a first glance of the sun.
Strong didn't encompass the stallion - rugged was better suited. He was a beast of a pony, standing a head taller than anypony around him and bearing muscles large enough to bench press any two. His every movement rippled with strength and purpose, telling tales of hard work sculpting his body into nature's perfection. From his broad shoulders to his unyielding back to his breathtakingly firm flank, this stallion was a masterpiece of muscle.
But in spite of his hulking size, the stallion practically oozed kindness. Every step he took was with care, every movement obviously aware of his size, power and the damage he could do to others if he wasn't careful. His eyes - bright green emeralds - bespoke a quiet intelligence, as well. This was a pony who was knowledgeable and keen, though his humble manner wouldn't allow him to flaunt it. Despite his obvious strength, this was no brute.
Most certainly a farmer, the salt of the earth pony was packing up produce at the end of the market day, lifting crates like they were paper. Each movement was a symphony, and Blueblood could feel his heart skip a beat.
Whomever the bright red farmstallion was, Blueblood was smitten.
"Posh." He reached out to grab his companion by the shoulder. "Do you see that magnificent stallion there? In the market?"
The butler pinched his eyes shut, knowing full well where this was going. "Yes sir, I do."
"Have you ever seen his like before?" Blueblood's breathless near-whisper would have gone unheard had Posh been just a few steps further away.
He wished he were. But unable to disengage, Posh nodded. "Not to my immediate memory, sir."
The farmer turned away, body flexing as he strapped the loaded cart to his yoke.
Blueblood's voice shifted from wonder to determination. "I must have him." His head practically snapped as he turned to his butler. "Arrange a meeting, Mr. Spice."
Posh's lips pulled to a tight line. "Of course, sir." He knew his duty, however.
Trotting forward with his head high, Posh drew up beside the tall red stallion and cleared his throat.
The farmer didn't bother to look over. "Closed. Sorry."
Posh cleared his throat again.
Once more, the farmer didn't look at him. His second response was non-verbal - he passed a single apple from his remaining produce to Posh before giving the cart its first pull towards home.
Another loud clearing of the throat, and Posh moved to stand between the farmer and the road out of the market. "Pardon me, gentlestallion, but my employer would like to have a word with you." He continued stoically even as the farmer shrugged the cart's harness from his yoke. "You have attracted his attention and he--"
With lackadaisical movements that still carried unstoppable force behind them, the huge earth pony stallion picked up the far smaller unicorn butler and - as if cleaning up a piece of litter - deposited him upside-down in the nearest trash bin. Then without a word, the farmer re-hooked his cart and walked away.
Prince Blueblood quickly trotted to his incapacitated butler's side, but his eyes were on the farmer's flank. "That was exceptionally hot," he breathlessly commented.
"If you say so, sir," came the muffled reply from inside the garbage can.
His name was Big MacIntosh. That had been simple enough to learn - Blueblood could have had Posh ask around as there were certainly no other stallions so fine-looking in tiny podunk Ponyville. Fortunately there was little need, as the market square was abuzz laughing at the butler's treatment and the farmer's name was spoken eagerly by the crowd.
The problem now was timing. Blueblood was certain he could sweep this MacIntosh off his hooves, but first impressions were critically important. Doing things halfway was out of the question. And now that the initial moment had passed, Blueblood understood that he had been far too impulsive. This was Ponyville, after all! In Canterlot he could simply have introduced himself to any prospective beau and his name alone would make them swoon. But here, where most ponies had never heard of soap let alone of Prince Blueblood? He would have to actively make the impact rather than allow his reputation to do the work. (This only further confirmed that he had been successful in arriving incognito.)
Which meant that it would need a good setup. And that took preparation. And that meant that Blueblood would be staying in Ponyville overnight.
He accepted that only because love required sacrifices. (At least, every storybook had told him that.) And those eyes… They were in his dreams that night.
The ownership of the Apricot Inn were extremely pleased when Blueblood checked in that evening - he rented every room in the motel to maximize his privacy. They were less enthusiastic by dawn, as his complaints about the accommodations being less than palatial had worn thin around nine pm and his dissatisfaction with breakfast only having three courses did little to help anypony's mood.
But come the morning, Blueblood was refreshed, hale and ready to take on the day!
Which was why Posh was running an errand while Blueblood took his mid-morning bath. The errand was, of course, retrieving the farmer. The timing would be just about right: Blueblood stepped out of the bath, one towel wrapped around his barrel and another in his mane. A quick spritz of cologne, a check to be sure his teeth had no stray traces of breakfast, then throw open the door to the main suite and--
Blueblood's mane uncoiled from the towel into a perfect wet mane flip.
Unfortunately, it was for Posh and Posh alone. The farm stallion was missing.
Blueblood held the pose for several seconds before looking to his butler with annoyance. "He's not here."
"He's not here," confirmed Posh.
"Explain." Blueblood's ire was rising.
Straightening his neck, Posh started into his defense. "I arrived at the farm as you commanded, promptly at nine. In spite of your statements that this would be ahead of any reasonable schedule, the gentlestallion appeared to already be at work and occupied."
Blueblood scratched his chin. "Curious. Possibly he had a poor night's sleep? It might explain how he was already up and going at such an unreasonable hour."
Posh didn't respond to that. "After locating him in the fields, I introduced myself - and yourself by extension - and told him to follow me here as you wished. He declined, simply stating no. I requested his reasons why not, to which he replied - in rather few words - that he was working and did not have the time."
"While I do admire dedication to your job, it's highly unsuited in this case." Blueblood - now admitting to himself that his paramour wasn't coming - started the rest of his morning routine, discarding the towels and getting out his manestyling kit. "Love should always take precedence."
Obediently, Posh set to work properly applying gel to his employer's mane. "One would think so, sir," he confirmed, "But it appears the stallion has not yet accepted your advances to see it as such. In fact, I don't believe you've expressed your intentions at all. Aside from wishing to speak to him, of course."
Blueblood's response was a non-committal "Mmm."
Which was far more accepting than Posh had anticipated - so he continued on. "I did attempt to press the subject whilst I was there and again requested he accompany me here. He declined once more and then suggested I leave the premises. When I tried to continue the conversation, the stallion's little sister arrived on the scene."
Cheerfully, Blueblood tittered. "A loyal sibling as well? I presume she is adorable and quaint."
"Exceptionally adorable," Posh confirmed. "She also brought with her the rope that they tied me up with, assisted him in carrying me to the edge of their property and told me not to return after depositing me beside the road."
The mane done, Blueblood turned about. "At which point you came here alone." He sighed heavily. "Mister Spice, I suppose this is my fault for putting you in such a position."
Posh raised an eyebrow. "Is it, sir?"
"It is." Blueblood shook his head, tut-tutting. "I should never have entrusted you with such a task. Matters of the heart should be handled directly. I shall be taking charge of this - hooves-on, as it were."
The corner of Posh's lips curled into an unprofessional smile for just a fraction of a second. "Of course, sir."
"Now come." Blueblood high-stepped to the door. "There is much to be done. I intend to have that stallion at my dinner table this evening and in my bedroom afterwards."
The butler said nothing more to the prince - merely following with the knowledge that this was all going to go horribly wrong.
Dinner was a bit of a problem.
Money could solve a great many things, Blueblood knew that. But he also had to bow to the fact that time was immutable. As much as he would prefer it, dispatching Posh back to Canterlot (via train, as they had no chariot), having him hire the best chef in Equestria, said chef packing up everything and traveling back down to Ponyville, setting up again and then cooking a proper meal? That was simply not logistically possible.
(Prince Blueblood knew this as he had attempted it two years prior in Baltimare. The chef had strongly reminded him that food was art and that art could not be rushed. He also took the bits anyway for his trouble, despite arriving an hour after dinner was supposed to begin.)
This meant that dinner would rely on the Ponyville locals - something Blueblood was loath to do, but there was no choice. At least, he assured himself, the produce would be properly fresh.
He had anticipated using lunchtime to sample a variety of the local eateries and taste-test to determine which would be eventually employed for his purposes, but that was not to be. Blueblood was caught off-guard (and yet somehow not surprised) that the sum total of Ponyville's culinary power was a bakery, a candy shop, two food carts, one singular cafe and the grill inside a bowling alley.
The cafe was the obvious (read: only) choice, but the owner was rather adamant that he wouldn't close up shop solely to cater anypony's event. Even if they were a prince. He was, however, willing to create a meal that would be acceptable (even if only because of the limitations of Blueblood's circumstances.)
Location, of course, was also crucial. Blueblood's normal choices were out - his own mansion was too far and none of Ponyville's so-called 'restaurants' had passable ambiance - so it was time to get creative.
A convenient bend in the creek that ran through town would suffice - with proper enhancements. Fortunately there was a local shopkeep who was able to provide the proper accoutrements (several free-standing urns of flowers; multiple fluted columns; half a dozen pieces of statuary; two luxurious fainting couches) and did so with the proper respect. (Blueblood filed his name away for later reference - naming himself 'Rich' was rather new money of the stallion, but he might be useful some day.)
So the little grass patch by the water was transformed in a mere hour (under Prince Blueblood's largely vague supervision) into a small neoclassical sculpture garden, complete with a marble plinth to act as a table. Add in a generous four course meal from the cafe (adequate, by the scent) and the last minute hiring of a local harp player, and everything was in place.
Everything, of course, save the guest of the evening.
Fortunately, Posh had come through with that task. He had spent the day shadowing the farmer (from a safe, non-hogtied distance), waiting until his master caught up.
When Blueblood found his butler, Posh was watching from afar as the farmstallion was assisting an elderly mare to carry some package. His being in town was fortuitous - he was mere blocks away from the waiting dinner.
"And no feisty sibling with a rope in sight," Posh confirmed, completing his observations. "He has spent the last hour or so assisting the elderly, which speaks well of his character."
Blueblood waved that off. "Yes yes. The important thing is that all is ready and that he is here. Now, since I obviously can't trust you to bring him along, I will take care of it myself."
With his head held high, his mane fluttering in the wind and his teeth gleaming white, Blueblood high-stepped up the road to intercept his quarry.
When Blueblood reached a body's length away, he opened his mouth, perfect words eager to his lips.
Then Big Mac looked at him.
It was the gaze of an angel.
Deep, sensual eyes looked back at Blueblood. Glimmering green lakes that communicated entire novels without a syllable spoken. A gateway that promised paradise - understanding, intelligence, kindness… perhaps love.
All of it mounted on a body that had muscles for days and a flank that wouldn't quit.
"gwak," croaked Blueblood.
Big Mac looked soulfully at him. "Can Ah help ya?"
"Buh," the Prince elaborated, his lips no longer connected to his derailed brain.
With the patience of a saint, Mac waited for the strange unicorn to try again.
However much time there was, it wasn't enough. Blueblood's mouth flapped, unable to form anything more than single disjointed syllables. "I-- er-- but-- wha--" He tried to get his point across by waving wildly in the direction of the creek.
It didn't help. Big Mac raised a single eyebrow with skeptical curiosity.
"Food!" Blueblood finally managed a coherent, multisyllabic word. "There!" He waved wildly again. "For you!"
The farmer's response was as emotional as ever. "Uh. Okay." He looked in the direction of the creek hesitantly.
Blueblood once more waved wildly in that direction.
Then Big Mac shook his head. "Kinda busy, tho'. Thanks." And then he turned to leave.
The noise Blueblood made was positively ghostly - the thin, keening squeal of an overheating kettle. In desperation, he lit his horn. Golden magic grabbed hold of Big Mac. It failed to budge anything.
Glancing back, the huge farmer raised an eyebrow.
Then Blueblood did it. Stomping his hoof petulantly, he finally found words. "I command you to stop! You are coming with me, and that's final!"
Big Mac turned around. Slowly.
"Final," drawled the farmer.
Some tiny shred of sense tickled the back of Blueblood's brain, and there was a hint of fear in his nod to confirm the word.
There was a slight fizzle as Big Mac walked straight out of the unicorn's magical grip, bodily lifted him up and started walking.
Blueblood knew he should be concerned, but the combination of romantic thoughts and Big Mac's strength being on display blinded him with a spark of hope that he was being carried to their romantic dinner.
"Oh my. You certainly are rather-- er, excuse me, but our meal is that way. You're going the-- SIR! You are going the wrong wa--"
Then there was a crash as Big Mac reached the nearest trashcan and deposited Blueblood into it head-first.
While his own struggling made Blueblood deaf to the sounds outside (and the can itself rendering him blind), at some point the farmer left and Posh arrived.
The butler rapped lightly on the side of the can. "Sir, do you require some assistance getting out?"
It took a moment before Blueblood answered. "I do not require it, but assistance would be useful."
Posh stoically grabbed hold of his employer's rear hooves and started to pull. "Very good, sir."
Another night; another morning.
Blueblood rose slower than normal, his back aching from being pulled free from his bin-based prison the day before. Ironically, he had to get moving quicker in spite of the pain - it was time to check out, and the staff of the Apricot Inn weren't in the mood to give him leeway. A few extra bits could perhaps have bought that much, but Blueblood's purse was unusually light. He had arrived in Ponyville incognito and only expecting to stay a few hours so he could make his apology and leave, after all. Most of his liquid funds were back in Canterlot.
So with a grumble and a relatively light breakfast (retrieved from the local bakery by Posh), Blueblood strode out of the inn with his head held high and his neck aching.
"Today shall be different," he declared more to the air than the butler by his side. "There was perhaps a small bit of miscommunication yesterday when I was overcome by the sheer scope of my feelings for the gentlestallion."
Posh did not respond - verbally. He also made certain that Blueblood couldn't see him roll his eyes.
"I am going to find him. I am going to tell him that I am interested. And then I am going to take him." Blueblood paused before clarifying himself. "Back to Canterlot so this can be done properly, I mean."
"Of course, sir."
Blueblood stomped his hoof. "But first! First, I must use all of my knowledge to track him down. This MacIntosh is a wily pony and is surely aware of my presence now. Hunting him shall be grand sport!" Pausing to pose dramatically atop a stray bench (upsetting the previously mentioned harpist who had been sitting on it), Blueblood looked towards the sky and his aunt's brilliant sun. "But he cannot hide from me! He cannot run! I, Prince Blueblood, shall find my quarry! I shall not be deterred from my--"
"He's over there, sir," Posh pointed out patiently.
Blueblood froze. True to the butler's words, Big Mac was indeed visible only about a block away as he emerged from the local candy shop. "...Mister Spice," came the prince's hushed wonderment. "How ever did you find him so easily?"
Posh merely shrugged. "I chanced upon him this morning whilst I was gathering your breakfast. He was making his produce deliveries and I inquired as to the remainder of his route. I have been steering our path towards his since we left the inn, sir."
There was a longer pause. Then Blueblood - in an uncharacteristically magnanimous moment - nodded to his butler. "Well done, Posh. Very well done."
"Thank you, sir." Chest puffed with pride, Posh motioned ahead of them. "Have at him, sir. Good luck."
With a dramatic flip of his hair, Blueblood shot his second-best smile at Posh. "I don't need luck."
High-stepping and full of energy, Blueblood trotted up the street. Closing the distance towards Big Mac, he put on his best smile - teeth gleaming in the late morning sun. "Excuse me! Gentlestallion!" His confidence voice boomed out, grabbing the attention of most of the street. Eyes and heads swung to watch the drama unfold as attempt number four began. (A less confident stallion would have noticed bets being made out of the corner of his eye.)
Big Mac turned like a glacier and locked eyes with the unicorn.
To his credit, this time Blueblood only froze up for a moment. It was enough to break his stride - but little more. "Yes, you! Big MacIntosh, correct?" Without waiting for the confirmation - which came in a small nod none the less - he barged onwards. "I believe we have gotten off on the wrong hoof. I am Blueblood, Prince of Equestria, thirty-seventh of the line of Platinum, Duke of the--"
Big Mac cut him off. "Ah know who you are."
"...Well! Good!" Blueblood tried to put himself back on track as quickly as he'd been derailed. "That simplifies things nicely." Clearing his throat, he took one last step closer - stopping just outside what he presumed was grappling range. (He was incorrect.) With no trash cans in the immediate vicinity, Blueblood continued confidently. "I may have arrived in this backwater on an entirely different task, but when I beheld you! Oh! Oh, then did my priorities change. Your form! Your stature! Your eyes."
There was another momentary stutter as Blueblood looked deep into Big Mac's eyes and found himself lost.
Only when Big Mac cleared his throat was Blueblood able to extract himself and continue. "I was immediately transfixed and could think of naught else. And while there have been some miscommunications along the way, my intent remains the same: for you to return with me to Canterlot so that we may have a beautiful evening - and night - together."
Languidly, Big Mac gave Blueblood a look up and down. He considered the proposal for a solid six seconds. "Eenope."
Blueblood blinked in surprise. "Pardon?"
"Nope," Mac repeated with slightly less accent.
He was met with stunned silence. "...But…" Blueblood couldn't find the words.
"Not. Interested." Big Mac's words were firm as his own posterior, which you could have bounced a bit off of. "Now if you'll excuse me." He turned sharply, leaving the distraught Blueblood in the proverbial dust.
Left only with a view of his obsession's tail as solace, Blueblood's heart sank. And - though not graciously - he moped his way back to Posh as the totality of his defeat sank int. "Time to return home, Mr. Spice. I believe our tasks here are complete."
The butler quietly cleared his throat. "Aside from the apology that Princess Celestia requested of you," he corrected.
With a heavy heart, Blueblood looked at the riotous glory of the Carousel Boutique just up the street. He considered what would have to be done - balancing the price of another blow to his already broken confidence versus Princess Celestia's displeasure. And with a momentary break in his good nature, Prince Blueblood spat his choice. "Bugger the dressmaker and bugger Auntie. We're going home."
"Very good, sir." As they turned towards the train station, Posh added one final comment. "He doesn't know what he's missing, sir."
As the two unicorns left town, the streets of Ponyville were awash with whispers. Ponies - ever unable to restrain themselves - quickly set the rumor mill going about the confrontation. The word spread faster than a flash flood.
One pony, though, didn't need to hear it from rumors. He'd watched the whole thing.
Quickly trotting to Big Mac's side, Caramel couldn't stop from glancing towards the retreating pair of unicorns. "You okay, Mac? That came out of nowhere."
Big Mac nodded slightly. "Eyup. Ain't the first time Ah've been propositioned. Probably won't be the last."
"Still!" Caramel fell into step beside the farmer. "The nerve of that guy! Just coming into town like that and expecting saying his name would be enough to whisk you away."
With a smirk, Mac shook his head. "Ain't goin' anywhere. 'Sides - you know Ah don't care about money or titles or such. Love's about the heart, not the wallet." Then he leaned in to give Caramel a quick peck on the cheek. "See ya for dinner." And he trotted away with a cheerful whistle.