The Traveling Tutor and the Royal Exam
Out of the Frying Pan
The inside of the Ponyville Golden Oak library was a flurry of activity with blurs of motion traveling in all directions at rapid speed. Twilight Sparkle and Green Grass stood in the eye of the virtual hurricane, unable to move in any direction without being clocked by a flying mascara bottle or lip gloss while Rarity worked on a nervous breakdown that was truly epic in scale.
“This is terrible! I just can’t decide which shade of lipstick goes better with both of your outfits, Twilight! The Ruby Red goes perfectly with your dress highlighting, but the Passionate Pink really makes the highlighting on Green Grass’ collar pop when you’re together. Or maybe your Tango Tangerine rogue should be lightened up a shade, but that would — Oh, no! Greenie’s collar is the wrong shade of green in this lighting! I never should have volunteered for this; I’ll never be ready before Photo Finish—”
“I, Photo Finish, haff arrived!” The front door of the library slammed open and a familiar earth pony strode inside, ignoring the way the circling halo of beauty products all zipped away from Twilight while leaving the prospective bride’s lips pink on the top and red on the bottom. “Please hold applause, time we do not haff!” A dozen other ponies promptly trailed in behind the famous photographer, spreading out to deposit a tripod-equipped camera and lights around the periphery of the library lobby while several others zeroed in on the groom and bride-to-be.
“Good morning, Princess Sparkle,” said the young mare who seemed to paying special attention to her mane and the top of her head instead of looking in her eyes like normal ponies did during a conversation. “Looks like you’re just about ready to get started this morning. We’ll just tease your tips a bit and get some duller on that glossy spot and we’ll be ready to shoot.”
“Thank you, Miss Powder Rouge. Greenie and I are glad to help out in this photo shoot as much as possible. We want it to look perfect just as much as you.”
The makeup pony blinked, glancing down from the tips of Twilight’s mane to look her in the eye. “Princess Sparkle? You know my name?”
“Of course we do.” Twilight left out the part about Green Grass having gotten a list of everypony on Photo Finish’s crew and making a set of flash cards for her. It did not seem like it would help with the conversation, and sounded a little like stalking even though it was something that Princess Celestia seemed able to do at will. “Rarity says you’re an artist with the makeup brush, but I’m afraid I don’t leave you much to work with. Mom always said our family is cursed with low cheekbones.”
“Why…” Powder Rogue took a step back and another look at Twilight. “No, you’re wrong. Those cheekbones are just fabulous and I think I have just the accent to bring them out in the session. Just hold still, Princess, and we’ll make you look picture-perfect.”
As requested, Twilight held herself as still as possible while Powder applied herself to the impossible task of making a librarian into a princess, although it was difficult to keep from laughing as she watched Stella and Roxie struggle with Green Grass’ dress jacket. Rarity had spent hours with him trapped in the boutique working on every little seam and crease of that jacket to the point where the growing frustration was threatening to spill over onto Spike. She was even less happy about that, because where Rarity tended towards gourmet chocolates to combat stress, Spike had significantly more expensive tastes.
Still, despite being told just where to stand and how to look for hours on end — which seemed to be an ominous foreshadowing of her role as a princess — the photography session rolled right along, even with the unusual break for lunch. Rarity and Fluttershy had both told her how Photo Finish was a complete tyrant with regards to scheduling, and that Twilight was going to have to put her full Royal Hoof down in order to get enough time for a quick sandwich, but the moment Twilight had asked for a break, the photographer had switched modes from tyrant to mothering without even a pause. Minutes later, she had been tucked onto a comfortable cushion, various minions had been sent on trips to bring back all kinds of wholesome foods full of valuable nutrients (when all she could really think of was a double-hayburger with cheese, extra pickles, and an Ursa-sized order of hayfries) while Photo Finish pulled out a photo album stuffed with pictures of every one of her grandchildren and relatives in their infant glories, some of which even had their own little toy cameras and lights.
Then lunch was over, and ‘The Magics’ began again, with pictures of the newest Royal Couple in the natural environment of their ‘home town’ in all of its rustic glory, although Twilight was quite sure that the amount of paint and varnish that had recently been expended within a mile of the library had stripped the shelves of Hay’s Hardware Store down to the bare wood. Even the bushes and trees looked suspiciously green and brown today, but a quick inspection showed the colors to be the result of earth pony magic, not paint. The very last picture was taken in the late afternoon at the fresh “Welcome to Ponyville - Home of Princess Twilight Sparkle” sign at the edge of town, and Greenie had insisted on adding “And Prince Consort Green Grass” in tiny letters at the bottom in pencil right after the shutter was snapped.
Or at least that was supposed to be the last picture, because she could have sworn she heard the shutter click again while Green Grass was down on his knees with his rump in the air and a pencil in his teeth, writing on the bottom of the sign.
It was probably just a figment of her imagination.
~ ~ ♥ ~ ~
Once the photographers were on their way back to Canterlot and both Twilight and Green Grass had shed their outfits, they took Spike with them for an afternoon meeting at Sugar Cube Corner (with an emergency double-hayburger and fries detour). Pinkie Pie was ecstatic, of course, and insisted on all of the details from the event, while Crosswind and Papercut were both still a little irritated about being told to ‘sit’ and ‘stay’ like some sort of pets while the photography was ongoing.
“Finally,” huffed Crosswind. “Can I fly back to Canterlot now? One more crossword puzzle question and I’ll go loopy.”
“Challenging sweetheart heartlessly action ends with—” began Papercut before being cut off by Twilight Sparkle.
“Daring Do. And crossword puzzles are a wonderful way to start out the morning.” She peeked over Papercut’s shoulder as he penciled the answer into the little boxes. “Still, I can’t believe you two spent this whole beautiful day doing nothing but sitting around with the crosswords and reading.” She tilted up the cover of Crosswind’s book and read the title off the spine. “Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders, Fourth Edition. I love that book.”
“Don’t spoil the ending,” said Green Grass. “I’m not done with the library copy yet.”
“Only because you use it to hide behind when reading Spike’s comic books,” said Twilight. “As much as I’d love to just sit and work on my reading backlog with everypony today, I wanted to catch up on something important we all skipped this morning.”
Both Papercut and Crosswind looked up with a start.
Five Minutes Later
Four sweaty ponies trotted at a brisk clip down the road on the way towards Sweet Apple Acres, the prospective Royal Couple in the center being flanked by a pegasus on one side and a unicorn on the other. Spike had exchanged his normal position on top of Twilight’s back for a perch on Green Grass’ somewhat broader shoulders, handing down papers from his portfolio as Twilight requested them.
“So if we use Nasturtiums as the accent flower like Rarity suggested — Thank you, Spike, for talking with her about that — we can cut the number of trellises by four and bring the processional over to—” Twilight took the chart that a panting Crosswind pulled out of her saddle bags while trotting alongside and held it in front of Green Grass. There were detailed lines and arcs showing pony placement in little labelled tags along with fire lanes, emergency crew access, and one translator for the hearing impaired. “—over to the south just a little, but it will let us have a dozen more ponies in the wedding audience. How does that look, Greenie?”
“Hm.” Green Grass cocked his head slightly to look at the diagram while trotting. “I’ll have to cross-check it with Fancy Pants, but I think we should open the interval spacing up a little instead to give everypony a little more breathing room. It is summer, after all, and we don’t want the Royals getting all sweaty out on the grass. Isn’t that right, Papercut?”
“Slow… down… dying… help!”
~ ~ ♥ ~ ~
Princess Celestia was well-known for conducting politics, business and casual conversation simultaneously. More than one Royal had accepted an invitation to meet with the Princess at an event only to find they had been outmaneuvered in some complex political calculation before they even managed to open their mouth. Still, she had a flair for the sport with such a practiced edge that no Royal ever turned down an invitation, even if they knew beyond a doubt just what was in store for them, because even in the middle of their shattered dreams and broken schemes, watching the Princess of the Sun shine in her natural element was a privilege they would tell their grandchildren about for years to come.
Green Grass was fully aware of his future Teacher-In-Law’s proclivities, having been the rather reluctant target of her wit on several occasions and finding the experience quite instructive. As a tutor, he was supposed to teach instead of finding himself being taught, but nopony could spend more than a few minutes in the presence of Princess Celestia without becoming a little more than they were before.
Except Blueblood, perhaps.
It had started during a quiet Princess-Groom talk regarding small trivia about the wedding over a cup of tea, which Green Grass was sipping with growing skill. Over the last few weeks, he had gotten considerable practice with the Art of Tea while attending countless teas and social gatherings with elderly mares who wanted input into the wedding process. It had been a fine line to trot between both Twilight’s wishes and his own, pitted against those of the Royals, but Celestia’s network of ‘Close Tea Friends’ had centuries of combined experience, making that fine line seem like a wide road with gravel sidings and giant marked signs.
Something seemed to be bothering the Princess of the Sun this morning, and after a few brief questions about the photo shoot yesterday and a few foal naming suggestions, she stood up abruptly and left the room, calling back, “Walk with me.”
There was even something about Celestia’s long, casual stride that was relaxing, although anypony she would talk to during a ‘walk’ was at least trotting, if not at a brisk canter. The busy halls of the castle tended to open up before her, with ponies backing out of the way to smile and nod at their princess as she passed, and then switch to guarded looks at Green Grass that veiled their actual feelings. He had been tempted to wear a sign that said ‘Stomp if you approve of me marrying Twilight’ except for the indignity of it all, and the knowledge that the resulting silence would be all the more accusatory in his wake.
They turned a corner and swept into a large, colorful hallway, where Celestia limited her pace to match Green Grass’ respectful slow stride. The brilliant sparkle of cut glass in every shade of the rainbow and then some distributed the morning sun around the hall in a dazzling counterpoint to the subjects portrayed in each stained glass window. It was one of his favorite places in the castle to go with Twilight, and he remembered teasing her on their last visit together. Every important event in her life had been immortalized in a window so far, and he was half-expecting to see a few workponies engaged in the process of making a window to be titled ‘Princess Twilight Sparkle in Labor.’ Or worse, the conception.
The empty hallway echoed back their steps as they walked until Celestia spoke in a very soft voice. “This is your last chance to back out of the wedding.”
He scoffed in return, trying not to wince at the sound his voice made echoing through the open space. “I had my chance to back away just a few weeks after we met. It didn’t work out well. I think we’re pretty much saddled with each other. Besides, I can’t think of one reason why I would want to run away this time.”
“The Royal Houses may never accept you as Prince Consort to Twilight.” Celestia gave him a telling glance. “Without a horn or wings, of course.”
He could not keep from giggling despite the solemnity of the surroundings. “Then Twilight and I shall teach them acceptance.”
“What if they do not learn?”
Memories of his students slowed his walk to a stop. “Then we will teach their children and their grandchildren, until they do learn. It is my special talent, after all.”
“I thought your special talent was teaching young unicorns how to use their first magic?”
“True.” Green Grass began walking again to catch up with Celestia, taking his place at her side in the same way somepony he was very familiar with once did. “Your Highness, can you think of anything more special than teaching a young and promising mind something that will change their life for the better?”
Celestia paused for a moment. “No. I can’t.” She stopped to pat Green Grass on the shoulder. “You’ve grown a lot since you were that young colt leaping around my school testing room, pointing at your flank and grinning. Your future with my former student shall only become more difficult with time. There will be many tests.”
Green Grass responded instantly, “We’ll pass them.”
“Considerable homework,” added Celestia.
“Twilight will be overjoyed.”
Celestia smiled from his attempt at humor, but did not laugh. “Raising a child can be thankless pain with few rewards. Many of them turn out to be obstinate little brats who do not listen to their parents.”
Realization about what the princess was alluding to crashed in around him. After fighting a scowl and losing, he turned to her and tried to keep the irritation out of his voice. “You’ve been talking to my father again, haven’t you?” Silence was his only response, other than Celestia’s constant tranquil expression that indicated she was willing to stand there however many hours or years it took until she received the correct answer from him. Finally, unable to take the silence, he looked back down the hallway and muttered, “I’ll go apologize to him.”
“Insufficient.”
He wanted to whip around and snap a response, but common sense tempered his words to a growled, “What, do you want me to go crawling back to him on my knees and thank him for trying to ruin my life?”
Celestia’s benevolent expression did not change one iota. “I expect you to respect him, as you are to respect all of your elders.”
After a long and thoughtful pause that included consideration of just what level of disrespect he was paying to who, Green Grass glared at the floor and grumbled, “I’ll get my kneepads.”
Celestia’s voice was quite clear. “Neither I nor my sister shall marry you two until you have reconciled properly with your father.”
The granite floor was proving fascinating to Green Grass in the way the little cracks and crevices sparkled in the brilliant sunshine. Unfortunately, no matter how he twisted or slumped, the gloss of a fine coat of floor wax kept the reflection of Princess Celestia in front of him. Finally, he looked up with a final appeal. “Can’t I just get some impossible labors instead? Cleaning the Augean Barracks? Slaying some fierce and undefeatable monster? Reforming the tax code?”
The faintest of smiles curled the edges of Celestia’s lips. “I can send Luna with you, if you wish.”
“No!” Green Grass hopped up off the floor like it had become white-hot. “No, don’t worry your sister about this. I’ve got it. I’ll go talk to my father.”
“With your father.”
He cast a puzzled look at Celestia before the difference soaked in. “Oh. Yeah. We’ve talked to each other for years.” Green Grass looked back at the floor. “What am I supposed to say to him?”
“What else could you say to a close family member with whom you have argued and become estranged from for such a long time?”
“Like you know anything about—” Green Grass paused, ever so slowly looking up from the floor to Princess Celestia and the large stained glass window behind her that showed the story of Nightmare Moon.
“I’m sorry.”
She nodded. “That’s a good place to start. Try repeating it a lot.”
~ ~ ♥ ~ ~
“I’m sorry.”
Martel Chandler, fifteenth Baron of Chrysanthemum, looked at his son quizzically before picking up his tea from Green Grass’s outstretched hoof.
“That’s fine, boy. An extra sugar cube won’t kill your old stallion.” He stirred the sugar into the dark tea with his spoon, casting the occasional sideways glance at where Green Grass was still wrestling with the tea set. The Prench press the family had used for years was getting a little loose in the metal joints for an earth pony to properly manipulate, but through sheer determination, his son managed with teeth and hooves what seemed so simple to his magic.
Martel had not really realized until today that the disability that he and his wife had considered his son to be laboring under was actually a difference, a point that soaked in rather abruptly when Greenie had come staggering in the front door with a large bundle of books on his back. “Here, son. Let me get that.” had turned into “Oh, heavens! Are there anvils in here?” when Martel had attempted to pick up the books with his magic, eventually settling for a little under a third of the pile and still working up a fierce sweat as he followed his unusually silent son into the library to put them back on the proper shelves. It seemed as good an opportunity as any to talk with his son before the upcoming wedding — provided the Father of the Groom was going to get an invitation — and a few quiet comments to the servants got the tea service set up on a library table before they were done reshelving. The package of chocolate biscuits in the center of the table seemed a little too much like a chunk of cheese on a trap, but with as little contact as Green Grass had with his parents ever since the last monumental failure of a fiancé, the baron had almost been tempted to actually employ some sort of physical trap if it would just leave him a few minutes to speak with his son before becoming Prince Consort Green Grass and vanishing from their lives forever. He snuck an extra tea biscuit while Greenie finished prying on the press to fill his own cup, giving a sigh when his son finally sat down at on the padded cushion opposite his own.
There was a long period of silence that filled the library, reminiscent of so many of their previous arguments. His wife had always been a restraining factor in their disputes, and their previous attempts to find a proper mate for their obstinate child had all been quite a trial on her delicate physique. Where most family arguments typically involved screaming and threats, arguing with Greenie in that fashion would have been like beating a puppy. He had always seemed so fragile, just like his mother. Without a horn on his head, and despite his early-acquired habit of wearing a hat to camouflage his deficiency, he was so out of place among their friends and family. As a colt, he would just cringe when shouted at, and had been horribly picked on at school. Finding a proper mate for him and setting him up in a stable household of his own seemed like such a right idea when he became of age, but after their first two arranged marriage attempts, he had retreated so far away from them that they had become desperate enough to try one last monumentally stupid matchmaking effort that had failed in a much quieter fashion. If Lady Bee Tress’ laugh was not counted.
And now he was marrying a princess.
That same awkward colt who had been so timid and vulnerable as a foal was going to be Prince Consort Green Grass, Lord of Whatever Titles They Would Give Him, although he hoped Princess Celestia would temper his odd sense of humor when it came to naming or he would be something like Lord of the Naked Noggin and Baron of the Belly Flop.
As if the thought of Celestia had triggered it, Martel took another look at his son and shook his greying head. “So, Greenie. How did your meeting with Princess Celestia go?”
Green Grass looked up from his silent contemplation of his cooling tea. “How did you know I talked with Celestia? I mean Princess Celestia.”
A low snort escaped as he took a sip of the dark tea. “I met Princess Celestia personally once in my life before you started dating Twilight. Since then, I’ve met her and her sister dozens of times, and I’m starting to recognize the symptoms of close exposure. So…” Martel sat his tea down on the low table and tried to settle his nerves. It was a question that had to be asked, and he was afraid of getting the answer he so justly deserved. Still, it would be better to get it over with now in the privacy of the library instead of in public later. He mustered his courage and swallowed some dry biscuit crumbs before asking, “Are you going to invite your mother and myself to the wedding?”
“What?” Green Grass jerked so violently that tea sloshed out of his cup, drenching one cuff of his formal suit jacket. “Of course you’re both invited! What kind of… I mean… Yes, dad.” He sat the cup down on the table and dabbed at his damp sleeve with a napkin before adding, “I mean somepony needs to write the check for the caterer.”
It took two blinks before Martel recognized Greenie’s instinctive attempt to divert attention away from a sensitive topic with a joke, and the sly grin that crept onto his son’s face only confirmed it. Officially, he had always chided his son for taking serious things so casually, but behind his stern frown, the baron always fought back a chuckle. It always reminded him of how his own father, Evergreen, had always been a serious stick-in-the-mud no matter how much Martel had engaged in the often-futile attempt to make him break up and laugh for a change.
“Your mother and I would have to live in a tent in the park if we tried covering this circus. In fact, there are already tents in the park being set up. I suppose we could use one of those.” He tapped his chin with one hoof before adding, “Naaa, we can just go live with our son in Ponyville. Add another branch or two to the old library tree and there will be plenty of room. We can even bring some more books for your wife.”
Watching the mix of emotions that flowed over Greenie’s face was priceless, although there was a familiar quiet wariness that crept back once the chuckling had subsided. The baron allowed his son the time to settle himself back onto his slightly-damp cushion and pick up his tea again before attempting to nudge the subdued conversation along. “Son. I know you didn’t come here just to drink tea.”
“Ginger-peach black tea,” said Green Grass, taking a sip. “My favorite.”
“Actually it’s chai,” said the baron. “I’m trying something new and you’re trying to change the subject.”
“I am not.” Green Grass took another sip. “I love this tea.”
“Greenie, just tell me what you want.” The words slipped out without thinking, and Martel was rather taken aback by the irate twitch that seemed to ripple from his son’s ears down to his tail, but not as shocked as the next words he said, spoken in a low growl that he obviously did not expect to be heard.
“Now you ask.”
An indignant response was almost out of Martel’s mouth by the time he stopped, taking a moment to breathe a few deep breaths and sit back down at the table. Somehow his cup of tea had gotten spilled in the momentary loss of control, and the time he spent with a few napkins cleaning it up and refiling allowed Green Grass to settle back into his normal sullen expression, a sure indication that any attempt at serious conversation with his annoying son would be futile for a few more hours.
Still, he had to try.
“I’m sorry too, son.” Green Grass did not move in response, but continued to stare at his teacup as if it had done something horrible to him. “Is that what you want to hear? Because it’s true. I’m sorry for trying to push you into the family business. I’m sorry for pushing you into those horrible marriages. We only wanted what was best for you.”
“Don’t you mean for you?” His son turned the teacup slightly, making a wave slosh back and forth across the surface as he talked. “Every time I tried to make it on my own, you and mom did everything you could to hold me back. I know you were just trying to protect me, but—”
“But what are you going to do when your son or daughter grows up and heads out into the big dangerous world full of things that could eat him up and not even burp?” said Martel, looking down at the table.
Green Grass started to respond and trailed off with a choked cough. After a few moments of indecision, he asked, “Did you have this same discussion with grandfather?”
“Not exactly.” Martel Chandler sat back down on his cushion and picked up his cooling teacup. “I was the eldest, and heir to the family title. It was expected that I go out and learn the family business, meet our customers and suppliers, travel to exotic foreign lands with your grandfather and learn how to deal with their exotic customs. By the way, if you ever happen to travel to the Griffon lands, don’t let them serve you fish. It’s terrible.”
“Depends on how it’s prepared,” said Green Grass with a distracted look over his shoulder at the sound of a familiar small yappy dog. Cricket’s shrill barking continued in a constant stream, growing louder and more annoying every second. “Did somepony just come into the house?”
A faint tapping on the library door preceded the appearance of Friday Haystings, his topaz eyes seeming troubled as he peeked into their private meeting. For some strange reason, he was looking at Greenie instead of Martel, and his words explained the mystery in short order.
“Prince Blueblood is here to see Lord Green Grass and Baron Chrysanthemum, sir. Are you accepting visitors this afternoon?”
“Of course he is.” Blueblood brushed up against the elderly servant as he strode into the room, making Friday stumble against the doorframe and fall to his knees. It took Friday a moment to pick himself up off the floor, but after a glance at his two employers, and a gentle hoof to nudge Cricket out of the room, he left without another word.
Martel Chandler rose to his hooves first and got out in front of his son before the young troublemaker could put a hoof in his mouth. “Good afternoon, Prince Blueblood. What might I ask brings you to our humble home this fine day?”
“A fairly minor detail, sir.” The prince paused as one of the servants briskly brought out another cushion and slipped it in front of their table. After a scathing look from the prince led to a soft dusting of the spotless cushion, Blueblood settled into place and turned down a cup of tea, waiting pointedly until the servant excused herself and left the room.
“Better.” Prince Blueblood turned his attention to Martel, obviously irritated at the presence of a larger pony between him and Greenie. “But still not good enough. I wish to have a private word with your son.”
“No.” It felt a little weird to be facing down the prince in this way after trying for so many years to curry favor with any Royal who would listen to him, but Martel drew a little confidence from the presence of Greenie behind him. The baron had only dealt directly with the royal ponce once, but he had talked to enough of his peers to realize that Blueblood may have been an opinionated twit, but he was easily distracted by his temper when things did not go the way he wanted.
“Very well. The consequences will be on you as well. Sit.” Blueblood gestured at their cushions and after a few moments of resistance, both Martel and his son settled down, although with little relaxation.
“Your Highness, I presume your visit has something to do with my son’s upcoming wedding to Princess Twilight Sparkle—” began Martel, cutting off abruptly at Blueblood’s sudden scowl as he slammed a hoof down on the table.
“There will be no marriage between the princess and—” Blueblood’s eyes shifted slightly to glance at Greenie “—that thing.”
“My son,” began Martel, “is a scion of House Chrysanthemum, and as such is a viable candidate for matrimony with any of the Royals including Princess Twilight Sparkle. As I recall, you made no protests yourself when Shining Armor married Princess Mi Amore Cadenza, or when that rather scandalous false story came out last year that implied that Greenie was to wed Princess Celestia. If you had no objection to Shining Armor as a cousin, or my son as your prospective uncle, why would you protest his marriage to the beautiful Princess Sparkle?”
“That newspaper story was my aunt’s sick joke!” spluttered Blueblood, slamming a hoof down on the antique table again hard enough to leave an imprint on the cherrywood top.
Before Greenie could step in with some jibe about ‘his nephew, Blueblood,’ Martel pressed his argument. “Two years ago, before my son had even met Princess Celestia’s student, you had an opportunity to escort her to the premier event in Canterlot society at the Grand Galloping Gala. If you had wished to press forward with your suit at that time, there was nothing in your way. As I recall, you wound up escorting the bearer of the Element of Generosity at the event. How did that work out for you, My Prince?”
A muscle twitched in the prince’s cheek as he glowered. “You know well and good how that went.”
“Yes.” Martel nodded. “I believe you were chased up a tapestry by a chipmunk, if I recall correctly. Then there was the year afterwards, where you did not attend at all. I presume your romantic rendezvous with Miss Butterscotch occupied all of your time that evening?”
“That is none of your business!” thundered Blueblood.
Martel Chandler merely sat and prayed that Green Grass would continue to remain uncharacteristically silent while the prince collected himself. Goading royalty into a rage-induced mistake by continuing was tempting, if not for the negative consequences of such. The rumors about Butterscotch, that is Mister Butterscotch before his operation, had been rife around the castle corridors for months now, and he was glad to have placed at least one dart into the prince’s pristine hide during the conversation, two if rumors about Miss Rarity and her threats about what would happen the next time she saw His Highness were true. Something about dull needles or hot irons, or maybe both. It was a tidbit to ask Greenie about privately when he had a chance.
“Your son should know his place,” said Blueblood, having regained most of his composure.
“Which is at Princess Sparkle’s side,” said Martel, “where they both have determined he belongs.”
“The only reason you’re supporting this farce of a marriage is because of the money it will bring you,” snapped Blueblood. “Dealing with the father-in-law of a princess will make a lot of your griffon merchant contacts very happy, and you very rich.”
Martel shook his head in a long, slow oscillation. “Actually I doubt if it will net my House a single bit. For every transaction that heads my way, there will be at least a dozen social events that I will have to fund. Not to mention the clothes. My wife seems to think it somehow morally deficient to show up at two parties in a row in the same outfit, and she has plans for a shoe closet which will take up an entire room.”
Green Grass rested a hoof on his father’s shoulder. “Dad, I’m supposed to get a royal stipend afterwards. I could set you up an allowance out of it.”
“Peasants,” sneered Blueblood. “Dirtying your hooves with filthy money. Since you will not listen to reason, I shall lower myself to speaking in a language which you recognize.”
“<Griffon, perhaps,>” squawked Green Grass in barely-accented Griffon.
“<Hush, squab,>” squawked Martel back. “<Hold back your funnyfeather for once.>”
With a cross glare, Blueblood raised a hoof and tapped his jacket pocket. “I have brought with me today a cashier's check for five million bits. Abandon your foolish pursuit of Princess Sparkle and it will be yours.”
“Are you offering Her Highness the same sum?” asked Martel quickly before his son could respond. “Because their pursuit appears to be mutual, and I don’t think five million bits could get Greenie far enough away from Twilight to escape.”
The faintest recollection of seeing a check-sized flicker of white when Prince Blueblood had plowed into an unusually clumsy Friday rose in his memory, and out of curiosity he added, “That is, if you actually brought the money, and aren’t just blowing smoke.”
“How dare you question my word! Of course I brought—” A golden glow appeared inside Blueblood’s jacket, moving back and forth a few times before the prince looked down and opened up his jacket all of the way, hoofing through the pockets and looking around the floor. “Where’s the check? What did you do with my check!”
“What check?” It was difficult to keep his expression neutral, but this was one negotiation he dared not lose. “My son and I have just been sitting here. Perhaps you dropped it. If you ever really had it in your pocket, that is.”
The prince stopped looking in his jacket and fixed Martel with a virulent stare, a possible indication that he had been pushed too far. “Nopony makes me look like a fool, baron. Persist in this foolish venture and you will find the consequences not to your liking.”
“You may try,” said Martel. “But Celestia will keep you from doing anything too blatant, and we can weather whatever else you throw at us. My ancestor started this House with an anvil and a pile of scrap metal, and if I have to go back to the family trade, I’m willing, just as long as my son is happy. Now begone with you, and do not trouble our doorstep again.”
“You have not heard the last of this,” fumed Blueblood, shoving the table away and stomping towards the door. “You’re going to regret turning down my offer, if it’s the last thing I do.” He slammed the door as he left the room, and they could trace his path through the house by the constant yapping of Cricket and distant slamming of doors until the prince had run out of doors to slam and was trotting out of the courtyard.
Taking a few deep breaths to calm himself and picking up his cold cup of tea to take a sip, Martel was somewhat surprised by Green Grass, who had silently sat back on his cushion and was looking into his own cold cup with a guarded expression. Finally, without looking up, he said, “I’m sorry, dad.”
“For Blueblood?” I don’t think there’s sorry enough in Equestria for that one. Cricket should have bitten him.”
“No, for dragging you into this. For all the things I did when I was growing up. The things I said. The lies I told.” Green Grass buried his nose in his tea and took a long, noisy slurp.
“Son, let me tell you something.” Martel floated his teacup back down to the table and put a hoof on each of Green Grass’ shoulders until he looked up, although his son still held his teacup in front of his lips. “I made a lot of mistakes raising you, trying to hammer a square peg into a round hole, but one thing that I can say with absolute certainty is that you turned out far, far better than Blueblood.”
His timing was perfect. Green Grass fairly spouted tea, coughing and spluttering as his father floated a few napkins over and mopped his face, even getting him to ‘blow’ by holding one of the damp napkins over his nose, which of course made the both of them break out in laughter again. Finally, the baron sat back on his cushion and grinned at his idiotic son, who was grinning back just as broadly.
“I mean that, dad. I screwed up a lot of things when dealing with you and mom. I know all you wanted to do was keep me safe, but—”
Martel held a hoof over his son’s mouth. “Your mother and I screwed up just as badly, son. Worse, even. I’ll never know why you just didn’t run for the hills that first time we set up an arranged marriage.”
“Because we’re family, dad. As much as you and mom hurt me, I knew it was out of love, and on some level, I enjoyed ‘crossing horns’ with you. At least until lately.”
“Well. I don’t want to admit it either, but I suppose, in some small way, I kind of liked ‘crossing horns’ with you too. At first.” Martel shook his head. “I can’t believe we tried to marry you off to some of those mares. I just wasn’t thinking of the daughter-in-law that I would be getting.”
“Brace yourself then, dad. You’re getting a daughter-in-law just as goofed up as your son, so you had better be prepared. And in a few months, an adorable grandfoal that will probably put us both to shame.”
“Yeah.” Martel could not help but grin much the same as his goofy son, but after a while, the smile faded away and he added, “Son, if this goes badly…”
Green Grass patted him on the shoulder. “Don’t worry, dad. You can always sleep in the library. Downstairs. We could use a live-in foalsiter to help Spike. Just promise me one thing.” He looked his father right in the eyes, reminding him again how much of those dangerous eyes he got from his mother. “From now on, if you’re worried about me for any reason and want to help, just tell me.”
Martel raised one eyebrow. “Sounds somewhat inefficient. What about all of our parental angst and sending little presents and trying to manipulate your life from a distance. I mean we’re still your parents. Shouldn’t we be trying to meddle in every little thing?”
“Dad…”
He held his hooves up. “I give, I surrender. No more messing with your life. Unless you really need it.” He grinned at Greenie’s concerned look before continuing, ”And in that case, we shall simply forward a letter to your new wife and let her take care of it for us. Now, are we good?”
Green Grass sat down his teacup and grabbed the last chocolate biscuit. “Yeah.” He looked up after taking a bite and chewing for a moment. “There’s just one thing, dad. Which of us is going to tell mom?”
“Son, there are few things in life that can’t be handled by two brave stallions working in harness together.” Martel looked morosely at the empty plate of biscuits. “She should be back from shopping for grandfoal’s clothes soon, but before we start, we’re going to need a lot more chocolate.”
~ ~ ♥ ~ ~
It was a fuming prince who strode into the castle hours later, only to be met by a radiant and effervescent Sun Princess who fairly danced down the staircase to give him an unexpected kiss on the forehead.
“Bluey!” exclaimed Princess Celestia, using the hated nickname with a broad smile and a giggle. “I have the most wonderful news about the wedding. We just had an anonymous donor give a cashier’s check for five million bits to Princess Twilight Sparkle’s wedding fund! It’s amazing the depths of generosity that the event is bringing out in our subjects.” Lowering her voice, Celestia whispered into Blueblood’s ear, “Rumor has it that you withdrew five million bits from your allowance just this morning, you naughty colt. I knew you had it in your heart to be this generous, but to keep it anonymous too? Why, it makes me so proud that you’re my nephew.”
After administering an additional kiss to Blueblood’s forehead, Celestia trotted down the corridor with a secret smile, leaving a stunned prince in her wake.