//------------------------------// // III – Of the Royal Archives, and a Cup of Tea // Story: The Golden Rule // by B_25 //------------------------------// ~III~ Of the Royal Archives, and a Cup of Tea A story of friendship, written lovingly by writer. You follow Celestia through the greenhouse door, pondering her words. But whatever thoughts you have swiftly take second priority to what's in front of you. You thought, for a minute, you'd somehow trotted back into the castle again. And you had, in a sense. You gasp. The utterly gigantic archives lie before you. The ceiling, like that of the greenhouse, is made of glass, allowing the light to shimmer through, though the rest of the hall is made of smooth, grey brick. The whole room must be several stories high, and wall to wall are pressed books of a thousand different colours. The clip-clopping of your hooves echoes with the end of each stride, your steel shoes meeting cream-coloured slabs of stone. In the centre of the room are pillars. They reach for the heavens, but fall halfway short, supporting what appear to be massive wooden staircases that run from level to level. As before, a large, set of arched stone double-doors lies at the far end of the hall, but tall wooden book-cases arranged in horizontal rows obscure your view of just how wide the room is. “This is the Royal Archives,” Celestia says, her voice echoing a little in the gaping silence. “My sister's observatory and the owlery towers are just beyond. My rooms are to the left...” she tapers off. The soft tocking of a singular grandfather clock resonates through the lonely hall as you take a moment to drink it in. A thick rug tickles your hooves, its designs so intricate you feel you could never hope to understand their significance. “Your room is just over here,” the Princess says, taking an immediate right and drawing you down a small corridor with a solitary door at its end, away from the endless maze and the wall to wall spread of books. Internally, you whine a little. You knew the Princess hadn't much time to show you around - not that you would dare ask her for such a thing. She probably had better things to do with her time than show a new recruit around her household personally. Secretly, you hope to be able to explore the massive archives later, on your own. And your new room is just that - utterly massive. Your old Lieutenant's room at the Barracks had been four strides in breadth and three in length, and you'd thought that was pretty generous. This room is at least three times that. You'd had to duck your head in one half of your old room – the slanted, attic-like confines of your quarters annoying you on more than one occasion. Here, there is no such quarrel. The ceiling, just like that of the rest of the wing, feels so very high above you, and is laden with long slabs of dark wood. From it a steel frame chandelier hangs, its magically-lit candles flickering elegantly in the still air. The walls are made of immaculate mahogany panels, and the dulled glint of sunlight across the polished, grey-brown floorboards makes them sparkle. The centre of the floor is occupied by a rectangular rug traced with delicate designs and strange imagery that you have never seen before, and a circular tea-table with two matching chairs. In one corner is tucked is a giant four-poster bed, its beams and backboard engraved with floral emblems and the sun. The bedspread and pillows are an unearthly white. In the other is a desk, set beside an old stone fireplace. Various cabinets are placed against the walls, their doors engraved with gold and silver suns and above them are distinctly half-full bookshelves. Next to them is a long velvet settee, with a rectangular tea-table in front of it. It's strange. It's a brilliant room, and you know it, but it doesn't feel like it was made for a noble. Like the castle, you were expecting Celestia's wing to be all marble and gold. This is polished wood, and delicate embroidery, and carpet. It's like somepony's private office. A bureaucrat, maybe. Somepony who's quite ordinary. It's like somepony had made the room just for you. “This used to be my librarian's room,” Celestia says, making you turn. She, too, is examining the room with an air of faint curiosity. “But she left me a while ago. Nopony's really lived here for quite a few years, now. I used to keep all my books in here, but I spent yesterday moving them all out, so I hope you don't mind the shelves being a little bare.” You gaze at the room around you, lost for words. You feel your neck muscles tense, and you shake your muzzle once or twice. Speaking is beyond you right now. “Good!” Celestia says, apparently mollified by your non-answer. “You are most welcome. Now, would you like a cup of tea?” You blink once, feeling slightly embarrassed. You've never even drunk tea before, let alone shared it with a Princess. Your emotions and discipline unbarred in her presence, you feel yourself turning a slight shade of pink. “You would honour me, your majesty,” you say. Celestia's horn glows an amethyst purple, and a silver tea-tray pings into existance. It is an exquisite thing, ingrained with a golden leaf motif of the sun, and upon it sits two identical white china teacups. Wreathed in magic, the tea-tray floats over to the long sofa, and sets itself down onto the tea-table with a soft clinking noise. You both trot over to the table. “Have you ever had tea before?” Celestia asks, glancing back at you. How did she... You find yourself fighting a frown. You've never had a cup of tea in your life, and you lament your awful luck. For her to ask such a thing was a million to one, surely. “No, marm.” You say. “I apologise,” you add quickly, as if you had offended her. A moment after your revelation, Celestia smiles and shakes her head, though she politely ignores your embarrassment. “Never had tea before? Well, well. We shall have to see about that!” Her horn shimmers softly with magic, and your cup hums softly, glowing an amethyst purple. After a moment, though, the cup returns to its normal state. “There,” she says, looking satisfied. “That teacup belongs to you now.” Curiously, you peer down at it, uncertain. “Thank you?” you say, somewhat confusedly. Celestia chuckles. “I've enchanted it. Try touching it.” You extend a nervous hoof, and touch it on the rim. No sooner have you done so that you retract your hoof in fright. The cup's white surface moves. Or at least, you thought it moved. A shimmering ripple extends from where you touched the cup's surface, like a rock tossed into a still pool. For a moment, it is as if the cup's solid china surface is made of liquid. You look on in confusion. And then, colour bursts into life from the void of white china. The surface of the cup dyes itself an emerald green, and then a deep brown. You look back up at Celestia, who is watching you. “It's painting something,” she says, smiling. “Keep watching.” You look back down, and realise that some of the green has overlapped that of the brown. The cup then dyes itself blue, leaving the shape of a tree there. The cup turns caramel in the area that isn't occupied by the tree. Fields of wheat paint themselves in the background. And slowly, surely, a house begins to build in the foreground. It's a white stucco cottage, with a wooden verandah. The tiled red roof is adorned with a tiny smokestack, from which wisps of ashy grey warmth spiral. You gasp as recognition takes you. It's your home. You'd recognise the farmhouse anywhere. After a moment longer, the cup stops flashing, and you pick it up gently, turning it over in your hooves. It's a beautiful picture. You can see it's an exact representation of your memory of the farm in the sunlight, just as you left home for the first time. You see a figure in the solitary cottage window. Just next to the handle of the cup itself, you can see an auburn unicorn mare through the window. Her features are too small to work out, but you're sure that it's your mother. “Drinking tea is time for reflection,” Celestia's voice says, softly, serenely. “This cup will change to whatever is most important to you. That way, you can think of it while you drink.” You look back up, slightly shocked. You weren't expecting something so sincere. The sudden representation of your home took you quite by surprise, and you aren't quite sure how to respond. Celestia only surveys you with those soulful eyes of hers. “Thank you,” you manage. “Thank you very much.” The Princess smiles. “May I see the cup?” You wouldn't deny her. “Of course, your majesty.” You pass her the teacup, and she turns it over in a grip of clear, purple-tinged magic, looking at what you care most about. Home. “Does your cup change, too?” you ask, slightly curious. Celestia's smile vanishes. Her eyes flit to yours again, and for an instant, you swear the gaze she was giving you was not filled with warmth at all. It was a saddened, bitter look. You blink once in surprise. Celestia is smiling again. “No,” she says, quite calmly and happily. “My cup is white, because I love all things dearly and equally. Now, what kind of tea would you like?” Maybe it was just a trick of your mind, but you swore you saw some chink in Celestia's unfaltering politeness. Perhaps you were dreaming. Perhaps you touched on something greater. Either way, you dismiss the thought quickly. You have no time to think about it now. Very politely, you inquire as to what she can offer you in the way of tea. The Princess, who has been examining your cup with interest, looks up at you, a slightly rambunctious smile upon her lips. “I have chai, breakfast, white, earl grey, black, green, herbal, jasmine, darjeeling, camomile, orange, ginger, cinnamon, pomegranate, pekoe, oolong, rosehip, lemon, mint, peppermint, lychee, and lavender.” She pauses. “...In one store-room. If you would like any of others, I might have to fetch a list.” ...Already, you regret ever choosing to try tea. Tentatively, you choose Chai. It sounds nice. “Very well,” Celestia replies. Ping! You glance back at the table, and see that your saucer has been joined by a small, silver jar, filled with what appear to be rather dry-looking leaves. Another slightly bigger saucer bears an immaculately crafted silver teapot and a small wire-frame bauble, and a third saucer has on it a small jar of what looks like sugar. Unbidden, Celestia seats herself on the recliner. “Come, sit,” she commands simply. You do so carefully, brushing your Captain's uniform beneath you so it doesn't crease. “First, we put the leaves in the tea strainer,” Celestia says, levitating the tiny bauble from the table. You look at her in surprise for a second, before nodding. She's trying to teach you how to make it. She didn't ask if you wanted to learn or not – not that it mattered, of course. You see the bauble is joined at the middle with a small silver clasp, which Celestia opens with a gentle snap. She then levitates a few of the browned, unappetising-looking leaves into the middle of the bauble before closing it. “So we don't get leaves in our tea,” she says, noticing your watchful gaze. “Next, we put it in the hot water...” Celestia removes the lid to the teapot, and a little wisp of steam escapes the top. The bauble lowers itself slowly into the water, encased in a field of glowing blue magic. “Would you like milk?” She asks. You do your best not to feel like a fool, and you mumble something nonspecific about not knowing the difference. This piece of information seems to delight the Princess even further, and she laughs her delightfully tinkling laugh again. “Very well!” she says warmly, her horn glowing once more. “You can try milk.” With another soft ping, a minuscule silver decanter joins the already bewildering ensemble of cups and saucers on the table. “Now,” Celestia says. “We wait until the tea is done, pour it, add sugar, stir, add milk, stir again, and then enjoy.” She pauses. You watch the cup steam for a second, and then, realising that she intends to wait in perfect silence, glance up at her. Thankfully, she isn't looking straight at you. She's watching your cup, somewhat interested in its portrayal of your home. As if the powers that be had seen that Celestia was, for the moment, unoccupied, a small green wreath of flame puffs from Celestia's horn. You're taken quite by alarm, but when a small scroll tumbles from the nether and onto the table in front of you, you realise it's dragon mail. That was actually probably the only facet of the Princesses that you were aware of and entirely comfortable with. All students of the Princesses were assigned baby dragons, removed from dragon nests while they are still in the egg, and tamed into civlized society over the course of their adolescence. The result was manifold – namely fewer villages burning to the ground in dragon attacks – but the potent magic breath of the dragons was discovered to have other uses than just burning. Celestia levitates the still smoking (and slightly singed) scroll from the table, unfurls it and begins to read. The next few minutes, while you wait for the tea to boil, are highly awkard, for you at least, but you can see Celestia's eyes run slowly across the page, looking as content and calm as a real Princess. “My student,” she says. "She wants to know if she's welcome for a visit one of these days." You blink once. “Pardon?” You say, unsurely. “The letter.” The Princess lowers the parchment, looking over the top of it. “You were curious as to what it was about, weren't you?” You were. Of course you were. It was only natural for you to be. But you weren't because you'd been trained not to be. “I would not dare intrude, your majesty,” you say, carefully picking your words. You turn to your tea before Celestia has the chance to reply. Gingerly, you raise the cup to your muzzle. You wouldn't dare try and see what it smells like – that would be highly rude. But the tea's hotness makes you pause, and as you hover the cup under your mouth, deciding how much to drink, a slight fragment of the aroma floats into your nostrils. It smells delicious... And it is! But billions of blue barnacles, it's positively blistering. With a steady hoof, you sip at the scalding tea. “Is it... good?” Celestia asks curiously, setting the letter to one side. You tell her that it's very hot. Celestia laughs again, sending a shiver down your spine as you try to enjoy your tea. A moment or so passes as you continue to take miniscule slurps. You find it extremely difficult to try something so new with the Princess being so very right next to you. The fact she is as amiable and unbothered by your apparent lack of knowledge about something as simple as tea does not help either. You feel a little guilty about that. You feel even more guilty as you look at the table, and notice that there's only one teapot there. Apparently, the Princess does not get to choose her own flavour, and you quickly open your mouth to add that you would not deny her of whatever she wishes. The Princess beats you to the punch, cutting you off halfway. “Oh, no, no, not at all, Captain!” she says, shaking her head and laughing. “I enjoy all forms of tea, but Chai just so happens to be my favourite. We'll share the pot, shall we?” You agree, feeling quite relieved, and watch as Celestia pours herself a cup, using her magic to manipulate the teapot and saucer with the greatest of ease. “You know, it's most improper to slurp your tea, particularly in the presence of company,” she says in good humour, silently turning a silver teaspoon around in her cup as she watches you. You do not smile (in fact, you feel a little more apprehensive about ever having decided to try some – you have to drink it with manners, too!?) but nod anyway, feeling extremely sheepish. You must present a comical sight to any onlooker. Celestia lies against the cushions of the settee, holding her tea in her magic with all the refined excellence of a Princess, her silken tail curled up around herself, looking as natural and relaxed as can be. You, on the other hand, sit awkwardly on your rump, the tiny white saucer held carefully in one hoof, your other hoof carefully balancing the china cup with your home on the side. Given your own slightly bulky soldier's frame, you can't help but feel rather silly, perched over the dainty teacup. But it's nice. You like chai. You like tea. There's a first time for everything, and, embarrassment aside, it was a rather pleasant experience. “So, Captain,” Celestia says. Until she starts talking again, that is. Inwardly, you feel a little more regretful about your decision. It strikes you as very obvious that the tea was far too hot to drink quickly. So what else was there to do while waiting for it to cool, other than talk? You make a note in your head as you peer down into the murky depths of your cup. Tea means talking. And talking means questions. Never drink tea with Celestia. “How are your first impressions?” Your nerves are barely over the fact that the Princess is willing to even speak to you, but Celestia seems unaware of your predicament, and you brace yourself mentally as you feel her magenta eyes pan over you once more. You glance up from your tea, and she's looking at you, smiling politely. You get the feeling she already knew part of the answer. You mind flickers to the scathing looks passed to you by Blueblood and his companions. “Very comfortable, thank you, your majesty,” you say. “Do you find your quarters comfortable?” Of course you do. It beats your old lieutenant's quarters by a mile. You can hardly even believe they let you have it. You want to say as much, and express how grateful you are. “Yes, your majesty,” you say. “And do you find your fellow officers to be amiable?” Your heart falters. “Yes, your majesty,” you repeat again, not entirely willing to say what's on your mind. Celestia's smile wavers slightly. You return to your tea to distract yourself from the fact that you weren't telling the entire truth. Maybe Celestia knows. You hope she doesn't, because then she'd be aware that you've lied to her – something you'd never, ever, dare to do. But you didn't want to cause a fuss, especially when you were only new. Stirring the pot was hardly the way to make friends. Celestia deposits her teacup back on its saucer with a soft clink, looking at you with her curious, pondering gaze. “Your home is very beautiful," she says. You smile. The thought of home is comforting. "Thank you, your majesty." You return to your tea. For a moment, silence prevails. "Forgive me, but... you're not a stallion of privilege, are you?” she says, cutting through the silence like a knife. You sip a little too much of the tea in surprise, and it burns your tongue. A sharp intake of breath and a wince gives away your answer, though you look her in the eyes and reply bravely anyway. “No. No I am not, your majesty.” And you weren't. You'd lived a very simple life up until now. Celestia regards you with her strange magenta eyes once more, her face forming an expression of quiet pensiveness. You get the feeling she's watching for a response, or waiting for one, but if she is, you aren't going to give it to her. Your upbringing... It wasn't good. It wasn't gentlemanly. It was 'common', as Blueblood had so delicately put it. You had lived on a farm for most of your years, attending the local high school. The fact that your mother could scrape enough money together to send you there while feeding you and clothing you was a fluke. Your father was a nonentity in your life, and always had been, so even from the beginning, it was just you and her. You worked with her in the field from age ten, graduated with moderate grades from your school at eighteen, and enlisted in the guards almost straight away, along with some of your friends. Maybe being a guard wasn't your calling in life. Maybe you were destined for something far greater. But being in the military allowed you to earn money, and that was all you cared about. The other advantage to being a guard was an education. Like most military colleges, the guards offered to pay a majority of your student fees – a huge advantage to you, of course. What was asked in return was also fairly straightforward – that afterwards, you were to serve in the military for a few years. It was a steady job and an education, just you wanted. Whatever money you made you could send back home, and you and your mother always figured you could use your education for something else. And there was always a need for healthy, young stallions in the army. You'd always planned to return home, one day. But then, when you turned twenty... You swallow some more tea. That is not something you speak of, or think of. Not now. Not ever. Celestia suddenly speaks, breaking the silence and bringing you back to the moment. “As a Lieutenant, you were paid seven guineas a week. That works out at roughly twenty-eight a month, and precisely three hundred and sixty-four guineas in a year. Is that correct?” You pause to run the sums over in your head. “Yes, your majesty.” “For guarding me, I will pay you four hundred.” “A year, your majesty?” You ask, your heart leaping in delight. The princess blinks once. “No,” she says, softly. “A month.” You look at her. You want to say something about honour being enough, or something about serving her majesty being worth more than gold. But you can't. If your entire body wasn't so vaguely aware that you were in the company of a Princess, the teacup would have fallen from your hoof. Four hundred guineas a month is... it's staggering. It's more gold then you'd ever seen or heard of in your entire life. A little nervous breath escapes your slightly open maw, and you clasp it shut firmly, though inside, you are shaking. “Th-thank you, your majesty,” you manage, bringing your eyes to bear with Celestia's. For once, the Princess is not smiling. Instead, she continues to gaze at you with her opalescant eyes, and for once, they don't bore into you so intensely. Maybe it's a conscious choice she's making, not to be so prying. She can see the money means a lot to you. She must. You've just given away more with that little stutter than you ever could with proper words. But for once in your military life, you don't worry so much about hiding the nuances of your emotions. You're too busy replaying the moment over and over in your head, trying to alleviate the hammering of your heart. The conversation dries up shortly afterward. You didn't have anything to say anyway. You don't finish your tea. Celestia leaves you soon afterwards at the westernmost archive door, asking only that you find her tomorrow morning, and you do not see her for the rest of the day. You slip away from your new rooms next to the grand library, and trot your way through the north door. You can explore the gigantic archives later. There's things to be done right now, and you navigate your way to the owlery (luckily, helpful signs and arrows let you bluff your way to the foot of the tower). You arrive at the base of a long, circular staircase, and exactly one hundred and thirty-five steps later, you're in the owlery loft. The first thing you do is write a cheque to your mother, containing the majority of your meagre bank account. You slip it into an envelope, and attach a hastily-written letter explaining yourself. You wouldn't want your mother to worry that you had no money, particularly when you were so far away from her. The owl takes off from the windowsill in a burst of feathers. Once again, you are granted silence, and once again, you are given the golden view from the top of Canterlot Castle to consider that day. It's in this moment of peace that everything catches up with you in one colossal rush. Having the palace before you and your day behind you makes the hair on the back of your neck stand up. Most ponies would never see what you've seen today in their entire lives, and you've witnessed an incredible amount in just a few, short days. The parade. Your promotion. The ceremony. The other officers. Your room. Tea with the Princess. You're afraid. You don't question that - you know you should feel afraid, or at least unsettled. You're a strange pony in an unfamiliar place, with nopony else to catch you if you slip. Strange things have happened to you lately, and you know you should be cautious. After all, it could all be so radically different, couldn't it? But you find, as you look out at the view below, that the sun is beautiful. For a brief moment, the flow of time itself slips from underneath your hooves, and you find yourself staring at the fruit of its golden gaze. The entire palace has been set aflame, drowned in a sea of gold. The world itself is alight with a warm beauty that reaches out and pushes the frightened chill from your chest. The sun, like a wondrous, ethereal healer, and a caring mother, gently lifts your spirits. It's all so beautiful. You even catch yourself smiling. If only you could be so grossly incandescent. You're warm. You're content, if not amazed. You're happy, for once. Fortune has smiled upon you. You could stay like this forever, locked in this moment for a very long time. You really could. But the dull hoot of an owl brings you back to reality. You climb the stairs back down to the archives, still smiling. An image of your home, as seen on the cup.