//------------------------------//
// The First of the Summer Cider 
// Story: Practice Makes Perfect 
// by The Great Scribbly One 
//------------------------------//

I stared at the stationary. It was nice of Rose to try to help, but at the same time what she was suggesting went against the spirit of the rules, which were clearly in place for a reason. I didn't want to get her in trouble.

Thankfully, I was spared figuring out how to politely turn her down by the tall, graceful mare who swept into the room. The Guardsmare stood to attention.

"Oh Twilight..." Princess Celestia sat down and gathered me into a hug in a way she hadn't in over a decade. "What happened?"

I buried my face against the base of her warm neck and cried into her peytral. It took a while for the tears to die down enough for me to begin to explain.

"I should have listened to Rarity, three days ago..."





Narda 29th Harvesting, 1008ALB
"Do try to hold still, darling." Rarity chided. "I'm almost finished."

I did my best, but my wings felt like they wanted to fly off on their own. In fact I almost wished they would, at least for a couple of days. They were emblematic of the reason why poor Rarity had to do almost twice the work whenever she made anything for me.

"Good grief, it's like you have mustard up your snout." She commented after a few more tugs and pins. "I've not seen you so worked up since Manehattan."

I bit back a pedantic comment that she didn't see me. She only heard about it later, what with being unconscious at the time. "It's my first solo engagement, of course I'm nervous! What if I mess up my lines, or somepony from the press- Hee!" I nickered as pain shot through my wing near its root.

"Sorry, but you really must stop moving." Rarity insisted, field dancing as she readjusted the hem and switched to a fresh needle. "I'm going to have to come on the train with you at this rate."

I glanced at the clock. Half past eight, just under an hour left. Barely time to get back home to check Spike had everything packed right, double check the list and then...

"There, finished." Rarity said, straightening and stepping back.

I blinked, that was fast. "Finished?"

She nodded, brushing a couple of creases out of her own high necked, scar concealing dress. "Yes, you did well. How does it feel?"

Shaking off the feeling I'd been played with the flick of an ear, I took a few steps in a small circle and ruffled my wings. "It's... Great. Thanks."

"Splendid, let's get it wrapped up then." Rarity said.

I nodded and took off the dress. It reminded me of the one I wore at my investiture, but without the elaborate train or ribbons and with more folds, probably to make taking in and letting out easier when my measurements inevitably changed again. Developing flight muscles, height enough to look Applejack in the eye, a greater rate of horn growth and more all added up. From a biological perspective, it was fascinating to observe and record, but little more than a headache in daily life.

"Are you sure you don't want somepony along, Twilight?" Rarity asked as she carefully folded the dress on some brown paper. "I would be perfectly happy to come, if you like."

I shook my head. "Thanks, but I need to do this alone. That's the whole reason why Princess Celestia asked me to preside over the harvest festival. Besides, you must have a lot on your plate right now."

"So will you day after tomorrow, if what I've heard about Land's Giving in Canterlot is to be believed." Rarity said. Or joked. Sometimes I find it hard to be sure.

"It's not that much different to Ponyville." I said.

"Well, anyway. It really wouldn't be a bother." Rarity replied. "I have an in with the royal seamstress."

"Sometimes I wonder why you aren't the one with wings." I joked awkwardly.

Rarity passed me the parcel with a smile. Success! "You're leaving Spike in Ponyville, I presume?"

"Yes, it's another good opportunity to try getting him used to independence. Hopefully he'll cope better now he's had a few moons." I said, the brief thrill dying as I tried not to remember the plumbing bill to clear out all the papier mâché from the last attempt. Or the hassle the builders gave me, for that matter. "Actually, would you mind popping in on him this evening Rarity? Just to make sure he's all right?"

"Of course, Twilight! I'm sure he'll be fine though. And so will you." Rarity said, patting my withers.

"Thanks. There's a-" I began, then cut myself off. I'd written up a 'to do' list for Spike, but just like for me, the point of the exercise was to do things properly without somepony looming over his shoulder. Or any animals to look after, since that seemed to be what he most struggled with previously. "Never mind. Thanks again." I added, raising the parcel in my field for emphasis.

"Any time, darling!" Rarity said with a wave as I turned to leave the boutique.





In the end, Spike practically had to drag me from the library to the front door to stop me procrastinating over bringing a fifth book, just in case I finished the other four while I was on the train. Three would have been plenty, really. We barely made it to the station in time to race across the bridge and flag down the conductor even as he was raising his whistle.

Spike stayed on the platform to wave me off until the first bend pulled him out of sight for the next three nights. Then it was just me, a journal which arrived that morning on the applications of quantum physics in teleportation matrices and Owlowlicious in his travel cage.

"Therefore, it appears that the pico scale pseudo-singularity can be best tuned by using the product of Flugal- No. Flugilgaard's equation for theta of element thorn's Keystone position, with an average thaumic cost reduction of 9.8% observed when..." I trailed off about half way through the article, trying to remember what the pre-reduction figure was.

Owlowlicious hooted.

I sighed, ears sagging. "It's not working, is it? I can barely focus."

He hooted again. Fluttershy could have told the difference, but it sounded pretty much the same as the last to me.

I stared indecisively down at my saddlebags in the space beneath the opposite bench for a moment before lighting my horn and bringing them over. "Maybe I should practice the speech again?"

Large avian eyes followed passively as I rummaged through the bag for the script.

"Well that was a great use of time Twilight," I grumbled, "repacking everything before heading out. It's all been jostled anyway..."





I spent most of the afternoon visiting Mum and Dad before heading to my old tower in the warm evening. Already hawkers were hastily assembling stands and pavilions in the markets and along the wider roads of the city, racing the failing light.

My tower wasn't spectacular for Canterlot, four floors topped by a steep yellow roof which gave the bedroom plenty of light and air at any time of day, thanks to the small windows set all around it. I lived there for the last few years before Princess Celestia sent me to Ponyville as part of the same process I was now putting Spike through, though she hadn't told me at the time that it was just a stepping stone. Technically it was crown property, just down a side street from the gates of the citadel and had been Sunset's before me, and before her... Celestia tutored a lot of students over the years. In fact I was a little surprised she hadn't started looking for a new one by now.

While it was still mine, I had decided a few days earlier that for the purposes of the exercise, the tower was the most honest place for me to stay for the festival. I wasn't too proud to ask for some food from my parents' pantry though, rather than having to worry about a grocery shop as well as all the rehearsals and final meetings tomorrow.

Inside, I was glad to see that somepony had been sent to dust before I arrived. It had been quite a while since the papier mâché incident. It turns out that national housing standards were apparently not a priority of the forces of harmony and as such, the forces of the mayor had launched a brief occupation to install maintenance access and bring the castle into compliance.

However clean it was though, the living room looked wrong every shelf empty. The books I hadn't brought over during my initial move had all gone to Ponyville years ago, after Tirek 'solved' my private storage problems by removing Golden Oaks as a whole from existence. Or this existence, at least. From analysis of the residual magic at the site, there was some evidence to suggest that at least part of the tree is currently lost in some sort of extraplanar space.

Having already eaten, I unpacked in the bedroom and settled in for the nervous night, letting Owlowlicious out to hunt.





Amarda 30th Harvesting, 1008ALB
"...And so I'd like to wish you all a wonderful afternoon, and say a big thank you for the generous contributions so many of you have made!"

A smattering of hooves stomped on the floor below for the sixth time today.

"Splendid! Splendid! Bravo!" A deep-throated Unicorn stallion cheered, walking in from offstage. "Now come on weather, wake up!"

A group of Pegasi up near the rafters jerked almost in unison and hastily shifted the huge sheet they held between them so the light from a spotlight spilt away from me and down across the floor, where a miniature mockup of Highmarket had been drawn in masking tape.

"And that's a wrap!" The Unicorn declared. "You go down, catch some hooves in the crowd and then it's up to the palace toot sweet for the feast."

I nodded wearily. We had only been going for a few hours, but Strict Cadence (not to be confused with my sister-in-law) put out the sort of determined energy which made you feel drained just by proximity, let alone trying to keep up. The stage lights didn't help.

Strict turned to me. "I think we can take your part as read, ma'am. Great job with the lines." He chuckled to himself. "But then I suppose I should have expected the Princess of Friendship to be good with a crowd! Goes with the job and all, what!"

"I did my homework." I understated, doing my best to maintain eye contact, rather than staring at a vague spot to his left. "Are you sure you don't need me? Right now, that is."

He nodded. "You've been perfect the last three go-rounds. Just do the same thing tomorrow and you'll be fine. Go and have lunch, stay fresh, and I'll see you at the palace tomorrow for the real thing."

"See you tomorrow then." I said gratefully before levitating my script over and skirting the edge of the hall for the exit, taking care not to trip in the tangle of wires leading out a window to where a portable generator growled outside.

"Back to the top, everypony! Chop chop! Weath-!" Strict's voice was cut off as the heavy old door closed.

I took a deep breath and stood in the drizzle for a moment, pushing my stress away. The air, cleared of particulates by the rain, was as fresh as it gets in summer.

Under a weak shield spell and without really thinking about it, I wandered up toward the palace, taking a shortcut through Puddinghead Park. A gardener was treading the ground there, leaving the grass revitalised in her spiralling wake in toward the Founding Monument.

The mare stopped and touched her flat cap deferentially as I passed and I paid her a polite 'good afternoon' in return, but my main attention was toward the mythical founders of the country, proudly staring down the mountainside.

Well, by mythical I mean they probably did exist, or at least some Ponies who came together to do something roughly similar to what the old versions of the story describe... But languages evolve, names are distorted and details drop out of oral history. What little we have from before the dark age is nearly all myth.

I stopped at the base of the plinth and stared up at the larger-than-life trio frozen in polished bronze. To my trained senses, the traces of powerful preservative wards to delay oxidation were obvious, as was the need for renewal by whoever laid them centuries ago.

The personal memories were even more palpable than that, however. I used to come to this park quite often growing up, whenever Shining managed conscript me into one of his games. Usually the naval ones in this particular park, thanks to the friendly old parkie back then and the large pond which forms a shoe shape around the back edge. Soon after Celestia took me on as her student, this was where he first met Cadance. She had been teaching me history while the Princess herself was in Sicameon on a state visit and he had happened by after coming home from training.

I never expected my life to take the path it did. I was six when I drew up the plan of my academic career, looking forward to eagerly tracing my way up the educational ramp and then diving off the top into the exciting sea of research and lecturing for the next fifty years or so. My wildest ambitions went as far as having a constant named after me, or maybe even an important equation. Becoming Princess Celestia's personal student was a dream come true and later on Ponyville was at first just a distraction from that. I grew to appreciate what I had there with an expectation that I was still going to move on eventually, only with meetups and letters added to The Plan.

Then I exploded.

Suddenly, I was faced with an indefinite void looming before me and The Plan fell apart. I had already begun my doctoral studies (part time, thanks to having Golden Oaks to look after and everything which came with being the Element of Magic) and I forced that through to a finished thesis and second graduation only a fortnight before Celestia asked me to oversee this event, but I could never be a professor now, not a real one. Professor Twilight Sparkle died in the birth-scream of Princess Twilight Sparkle.

The mares behind those the statues, whoever they really were, would understand the life I was training for. They had led through one of the worst moments of history, when it must have seemed like the world was going to end. Six thousand years later in the age of vacuum tubes, printed ink and standardised spell matrices, it turns out history was only just getting started. Maybe thanks to them, maybe not.

The dead couldn't answer any more than they could replenish the artisanal, impossible-to-replicate wards on the statue, but if they could do all they supposedly did without written language, then surely I could make a five minute speech, lead a toast and answer a few questions for The Canterlot Herald if they wanted.

That confident thought buoyed me, and I passed the plinth with a mind toward finding somewhere to buy a late lunch. But as I crossed the bridge out of the park, I stopped and turned around, ears flicking.

I could have sworn I heard a colt laughing.





Curda Land's Giving, 1008ALB
I peered with baggy eyes through a crack in the curtains down onto the huge market square, heart beating in my throat. The place had been flooded by a chromatic sea, amid which stands and tables laden with produce stood like islands, hardly any less colourful. Through the open door to my left spilt both the scents of roasting vegetables and the roar of tens of thousands of voices, all but drowning out the band playing on the steps below.

"Your Highness, it's almost time."

I jolted and stumbled back, wings wavering to steady myself.

"Sorry!" The maid who had startled me squeaked, ducking out the way of a flailing limb.

I stepped out of her personal space and shook my head, stammering my own apology.

We crossed the room to where a tall mirror had been set up. While I was distracted at the window, a younger maid had arrived with a trolley full of the sorts of things Rarity could name in a heartbeat and was currently erring over something which to me looked vaguely related to wing care. Stopping, I took a breath and pushed away the worry, but for once the technique felt about as helpful as pushing water.

Butter had been one of Princess Celestia's hoofmaidens since before she took me on as her student, and probably before I was even born if I had to guess by her age, though I didn't know her very well beyond diligently learnt recognition. Since then she had moved up to become her personal chambermaid. In a way, I suppose she might have been too used to her employer. A proper princess would never have reacted the way I did.

Either way, the greying mare had quickly recovered from her shock and introduced the younger maid as Straight Comb, a trainee. Barely focussed on the conversation, I nodded along as Butter asked if it was all right if she watched the work.

From then on it was almost like being a patient in an operating theatre as Butter swung into action, reeling off what she was doing and working around me at a dizzying pace, occasionally having Straight copycat some minor tweak.

Feathers were straightened and ironed, hair was brushed for a third time, near-invisible creases were worked out of fabric, makeup buried the evidence of two sleepless nights and jewellery was fitted on top of it all. The only times Butter addressed me were to ask me to open a wing or lift a hoof, though at the rate she was going, I couldn't have got a word in edgeways even if I wasn't busy trying not to scream.

Last to go on was my circlet, though I only felt it press against my mane. My eyes were squeezed shut and my heavy breathing had since drowned out the tutorialisation.

"Your public awaits, darling." Rarity said at last.

I opened my eyes, surprised. For an instant I thought I was in the palace, but when I blinked, Butter replaced Rarity. The back of my mind kept shouting to push the stress away, but the dress I had admired two days earlier now felt restrictive, crushing my flanks as I tried to control my breathing and threatening rumpling if I raised my foreleg too high. I couldn't go out looking dishevelled like that.

"Then I'm ready." I forced out, drawing myself up.

Butter smiled. "You'll blow them away, ma'am."

The encouragement fell flat in my heart thanks to what faced me in the mirror. I looked nothing so much like a filly trying ever-so-seriously to imitate her mother.

Quickly turning away before the last shreds of courage could wither, I muttered my thanks and began the short walk toward the open doors. Though the golden shoes they had put on me were not tall at all, they might as well have been stilts for how wobbly my legs felt.

I just had to live up to Princess Celestia for five minutes. Five minutes. Even compartmentalising the task, it was like the last moments before my thesis presentation all over again, the many ways I could mess up parading through my head.

The last refrain of the previous music faded out, there was a brief pause and the noise dropped a little as a city crier down below announced me. Then the band struck up the half of the national anthem to which I was entitled and I stepped out onto the balcony.

The crowd exploded into cheers at my nervous little wave and rictus smile.