“No one quite knows the full extent of the Ever Free Castle’s wealth. It was not built all at once like Canterlot, nor planned out like most modern residential areas. It was pieced together, brick by brick and wing by wing as needed. It was the last bastion of sanity in a world ruled by Chaos and Discord’s iron claw. No one pony worked on it’s architecture, and such no one pony knows all it’s secrets. Who knows what lies hidden in the walls or down hallways that might not have originally dead ended. Doubly so with a pair of fledgling Demi-deities with a love of pranks running the place toward the end of it’s completion.”
-Neighboring Sites to See Around Ponyville by Mortared Brick
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Racing off the train, forgetting in her haste that she could Teleport, Twilight stomped around the stations boards looking for the threat she knew would be wreaking havoc on her home town like it usually did. Other than a filly accidently dropping her icecream cone in surprise to see her Princess in a state of outright panic there were no threats to Equestrian security. Bashfully turning around she saw her personal guard, hoof picked by Luna herself, extricating themselves from the train as quickly they could in full armored regalia.
“Note to self: enchant some better energy armor for my guard so they can keep up if I need to run or teleport short distances. Heavy steel is great for looking good to tourists but bad for battle situations requiring speed.” Their shoulder pauldrons and leg guards scraping shrilly on the metal doorways as they filled out of the train made her add an addendum, “or stealth.”
Weaving between their legs, her tabard almost getting caught in the rush, Zoisite Quill came to attention to her Princess’ side, “What are your order Mum?”
“Brace for impact Zoey, we’re about to receive a Ponyville welcome.”
“I’m afraid I don’t follow Mum, what does that have to do with impa…”
The rest was lost in a rush of air as a pink blur almost bowled her over and still left her gasping for air.
“Omigosh Omigosh Omigosh! Welcome to Ponyville little Crystal Empire filly! My name’s Pinkie Pie, but you probably knew that when we visited your kingdom and dealt with that mean old Shadowy Pants. Any way, welcome to Ponyville! We have a bakery, and I work there! And it sells croissants, doughnuts, eclairs, cakes, MY BOSSES ARE NAMED CAKE! And we have a Quill and Sofa shop, and three restaurants, and a bar. But you’re probably not old enough for that yet. And there’s a school. Are you going to go to school here? I know some fillies your age that you could be best of friends with. Oh! Can I be your friend?! What’s your name?!?” Lung capacity now spent Pinkie sat down a little dizzy as she recouped her breath while the poor crystal filly caught up mentally.
“Pinkie, this is Zoisite Quill, my new page. She’s on a erm. . .field trip. Yeah, field trip. With me while we investigate some findings I discovered while in the Northern Empire. Zoey, this is Pinkie Pie, best baker in Ponyville, premiere party pony and the Element of Laughter.
More than a little lost, but quickly making up ground, Zoey shook hooves with the heavily caffeinated pink party pony and smiled a bit nervously, “Pleased to make your acquaintance Mum, like m'lady said, I’m Zoisite, but everyone calls me Zoey. I’m technically under Princess Twilight’s purview in where and when I go places but I am starting to get hungry, that was a long train ride. Seeing as how there’s no outright disaster Mum, might we inspect the local bakery for a bit of pre-disaster planning?”
Much like Spike would, the mentioning of food reminded Twilight that she herself had not eaten since last night’s dinner, and even that had been sparse amongst the stacks of books in the Crystal Empire’s Library. Tummy grumbling like it too was a baby dragon the Princess of Friendship hastily agreed, seeing no monsters crushing homes or other disturbances and made haste to Sugar Cube Corner. “Food first, then to uncover who this mystery pony is.”
“Mystery pony?” Bouncing merrily along on all four hooves like they were pogo sticks, “you mean there’s more ponies for me to meet and greet? My Pinkie Sense hasn’t alerted me to any new visitors, and I already greeted everyone else on the train when we were up North! Are you sure Twilight? I mean, I know you like to be all scientificy about this kinda stuff but my Sense hasn’t told me a thing. Funny too, it was all sleepy when I was around town today. Like it took super duper long for me to realize things were happening when they did. Like that nice quiet mare from Canterlot that likes to play the cello accidentally got a store sign dropped on her when somepony shut a door too hard. Oh, speaking of hard we’ve got a new batch of rock candy ready to go if you wanna try some. The secret ingredient, ROCKS! Did you know I grew up on a Rock Farm, my parents sent me a note about the time Trixie was working there part time. You know, for a Unicorn she did pretty good! Might have more than a little Earth pony in her heritage, might explain her low level use of magic. Oh, speaking of magic. . .”
Zoey was spell bound with the ability this mare could change subjects with such fluidity. There weren’t even any pauses for breath, and considering that the average pony lung capacity while held was only a minute or so she was talking for a good three when they finally got to Sugar Cube Corner.
Twilight, well used to a “Welcome Back to Ponyville Pinkie Rant” took it all in stride as she did her best to sort the wheat from the chaff. Pinkie gave her a rundown of EVERYTHING that had happened recently. Though a small worry started to grow in the back of her mind, if Pinkie hadn’t sensed the visitor to Ponyville was he a spell? And not a pony at all? She had sensed just about every new comer to Ponyville and this was a staunch diversion from that pattern. Sorting that fact away for later they entered the bakery and partook of its wares.
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Spices.
That was the first thing you smelled in the rickety farm house kitchen.
A thousand thousand days and nights filled with the smells of cooking cider, jam, and other apple products permeated the air with a muted fashion that know perfume or spell could reproduce. It was in the very wood itself, ironically not apple wood.
The next thing was the fire smoke. The stove in the corner had been installed before Granny Smith was fetlock high to an apple, and while it had been well cared for over the decades, you could still smell the smoke that had worked it’s way into the room from countless burnings.
And beneath those two fairly strong odors was sweat. Tangy, salty, just a little sour, but not unwelcome. This wasn’t some colts gym locker. This was an honest sweat made from a day’s labor putting food on your family’s table. All of it reminded Blackbriar of home, and it only added to his confusion.
After depositing him in a kitchen chair, half slumped on the table as the last of Nurse Redheart’s medication worked it’s way out of his system, Applejack excused herself to put away the bits and the wagon for tomorrow’s haul. Leaving the strange stallion with a confused look on his muzzle and two mares of very different ages to keep an eye on him.
“So yer like some kinda distant relation to us Apples Mr. Blackbriar?” a small filly inquired.
“Ahm. . .not sure kiddo. Ah might be, can’t know fer sure yet. Yer sis thinks I’m a few apples short of a bushel, but folks in my time thought the same of me.”
Working a spoon around a pot with her hoof, some pleasant smelling concoction bubbling away on the stove, the aged green mare regarded her guest without turning around, “Fiddlesticks! There’s sur’in a way for us ta know if yer an Apple. From the youngest sprout like Applebloom here to the eldest timber like mahself, every Apple from the their 7 season on is taught tha Apple Family Applesauce Recipe. Unchanged for decades, never written down, passed down from generation ta generation by word of mouth, in a great oral tradition on par with any fancy pants unicorn history!”
With hooves more deft than one would think a septuagenarian mare would have, she balanced the bubbling hot pot of apple sauce on her head with a pot holder between and set it down in front of Applebloom and Blackbriar. It’s percolations slowly decreasing in frequency off the heat source until just a gentle steam issued from it’s surface.
“Now ‘Bloom, you were just taught this the other day, what are the rules for making Apple Family Applesauce?”
“Ah Granny Smith, that was years ago, but ah remember. Rule One: Y’all can use any apple ya like ‘cept Zapp Apples, they’re only used for jam. Rule Two: Portions. It goes 5-4-3-2-1. 5 parts apple, to 4 parts sugar, to three parts water, to two parts acid, to one part seasonings! Citrus or fruit acid fer sweet sauce and vinegar or alcohol fer savory. Rule Three: No Magic! We do things the Earth Pony way! Hoof or mouth or tail. If you got wings or a horn you git out of mah kitchen!” she said, doing her best Granny Smith impression at the end.
“Alright ya whipper snapper! I think he gets the gist of it, now what’re the spices?” she said offering him a spoon while simultaneously putting a hoof over Applebloom’s mouth.
Without even touching it, just taking in a whiff of the sweet succulent smell. Blackbriar fought back some salivation as he analyzed the concoction.
“Ah think yer spot on thar Applebloom, but what yer Granny is looking for is the recipe to prove my heritage, and I don’t plan ohn disappointing her! Y’all got cinnamon, pretty standard in most apple sauces, but it’s cut with ah dash of nutmeg, to give it an Earthier aroma. Less harsh spice, and more mellow woody notes. Y’all added some ginger root, must be ah pain to find in these here colder and wetter climes. But it’s thar in the background, just waiting to be tasted one you get by the more dominant notes of the cinnamon. But what she didn’t mention is what she cooked the sauce with. Cause it’s not just what goes into the pot that affects the flavor, it’s what’s around it as well. Ya used Timberwolf wood to cook it. Ya gotta kill ah creature of the forest to make the Clan’s Signature Dish. It adds a certain feral bitterness to it that you can’t get any other way. And it’s that illusive note that people crave, and can never guess. Cause only a fool would dare walk into the Everfree without a guide and hunt those critters. Now something tells me ya don’t got in ther and slay the beasts, so would ya kindly tell that massive mountain of stallion to stop skulking in the shadows with that bat. Ah don’t mean to be a poor host, but ah get a might bit agitated when pony folk mean me harm without just cause.”
You could hear a pin drop in that kitchen if the clatter of a wooden spoon falling out of Granny Smith’s mouth hadn’t covered it up. Applebloom looked from the shell shocked Granny Smith, to Blackbriar, to her rather bashful brother setting his baseball bat aside, to Blackbriar, and then back to Granny Smith. “Wow! Y’all must be family, I ain’t seen no one else be able to suss Granny like that and not earn a whap upside the head with a spoon for it!”
Blackbriar stood and squared off with the large red stallion in the hallway leading down toward the bedrooms. Looking eyes the long silent stallion looked at the smaller, if rounder visitor before him. “Ah’m Blackbriar, Head Chef of the Lunar Court of Everfree Castle. Ah presume y’all are the brother Applejack mentioned earlier?”
More than a little shocked that another stallion would square off with himself much less taking on such a dominant stance in his own home, the stern red giant kept his gaze and expression even. Giving his standard response, “Yuuuup.”
Having regained her composure Granny Smith returned her pot to the stove and killed the flame. “Ah’m sorry young’n, but ah had ta be sure. Y’all wouldn’t believe how many imposters try ta get our family recipe by posing as an Apple Family member. And with us not seeing ya at the Family Reunion just a while back we thought ya were one of’em. But ya were right, ah don’t kill them critters, though no one used ta really. Always had mah husband, mah son, or my grandson here do it. Though we don’t advertise it, we can harvest the wood without killing the critters now. We just give’em a good buck and take a leg branch, they can hobble around until they get enough wood gathered to replace it. They get ta keep their lives and our livestock stands a might better chance getting away from a three legged predator. That was till mah daughter in law got. . . .”
The front door slams shut as a well worn Applejack makes her way into the kitchen, dispelling the staring contest of wills between the two stallions and interrupting the story Granny Smith found herself remembering against her will. “Ah see ya already met Big Macintosh! Don’t let his grim looks get ya down, he’s a big softy, mean left hoof but a softy. Ah might bit over protective of his sisters as well, but we’re family, it’s ta be expected. So as Granny isn’t hollering yer ear off for being a fake ah take it yer actually an Apple?”
The kitchen window slides open and a creature that only looks vaguely like a pony dressed in black rags with glowing red eyes beneath a hooded cloak sticks it’s disfigured face into the room. “Actually my dear, he’s older than the Apple Family Line, but it’s not going to matter much once I send him to his grave like I have all his accursed family line!”