The Traveling Tutor and the Royal Exam
Trapped by Circumstance
Two days before the wedding
After fighting through several layers of fabric only to be trapped in dead ends, Green Grass was starting to think the massive wedding dress was actually supposed to be entertainment for the foals, a sort of bigger-on-the-inside cloth maze that they could wander through while playing tag inside. It was possible. He really needed a map. So far, all of the holes he had found were merely sleeves or thermal vents that only allowed him to get a rather foreshortened view of the outside world and the six mares of the bridle party trying on outfits.
He took his time while waiting, and by the time Green Grass had dug himself out from underneath the ‘dress,’ the respective wedding dress and bridlemaids outfits had all been tried on, adjusted, and a substantial amount of ‘mare talk’ was ongoing between Königstochter Sophia and the six chatty young mares. Even Papercut, Crosswind, and Sophia’s photographer had abandoned him for the dubious excuse of ‘schedule detail coordination’ that he suspected would take place in the mansion’s kitchen with Cook’s famous apple strudel.
Taking a few minutes to examine the field of battle before emerging from the entrapping dress revealed his mother standing just behind and to one side of the ongoing vigorous conversation. She had not noticed his observation, and he took a moment to take in the faint glistening of tears in her eyes and the almost unnoticeable trembling of her upper lip. He had thought of his father and mother as opponents for many years now, and now that he could be considered to have triumphed over both of their plans for his future, he found victory to be bittersweet. Marechiavelli was quite clear on how ruthlessly a victorious princess should rule a conquered province, and he deliberately wadded up everything he had ever learned from that chapter in his history lessons and threw it into a metaphorical fire before stepping out from under the dress.
“Really, I would think at least one of my mother’s wedding suggestions would be useful. Maybe something a little more sizable would be more appropriate,” he started, rearranging a string of lace on a sizable dress that presided over the floor of the room like an ocean liner in port. “Admittedly, this one is a little large, but maybe if it had a set of wheels inside…” He trailed off as he moved a section of the train to one side and saw that it indeed had a set of rails for suspension, as well as a little wheeled cart that could only be called a caboose.
“Really, Greenie,” scoffed Rarity as she adjusted a hem on Twilight Sparkle’s gown. “That one is horribly impractical. I’ve devoted considerable effort over the last year and a half to making the perfect wedding dresses for my best friends.”
“That’s a laugh, Rarity,” said Rainbow Dash from the ceiling where she was testing the aerodynamics of her bridlemaid outfit with a series of loops and hoof-chops. “They’ve barely known each other for a year and a half.” The pegasus stopped next to the swaying chandelier. “Friends? Do you mean you’ve made a wedding dress for each of us?”
“I mean, take this train, for example,” said Rarity rather quickly, holding the short length of creamy white fabric out for Lady Spring’s inspection. “It’s comfortable, flexible, and won’t get in the way in the event we have to fight a horde of invading changelings during the wedding.”
“That’s nic—” Spring blinked. “Changelings?”
“Oh, I doubt we’ll see any changelings this wedding,” said Rarity in a dismissive tone. “They’re so last season. This year it will probably be dragons. That’s why I made all of our outfits fireproof, and perforated just under the surface so they can be—” she shuddered violently “—torn off and used as bandages in case of dragon attack.”
“That reminds me,” said Spike, digging around in the boxes. “I had Sparkler make this just for the wedding. Here!” The little dragon presented a fairly substantial emerald on a golden chain to Green Grass.
“Why Spikey! You’re so generous.” Rarity kissed the little dragon on the top of his head. “That’s one of the gems you got from that tremendously huge dragon next to the Griffon aerie, isn’t it?”
“Yep!” said Spike with his chest puffed out. “It looks positively delicious. Any dragon who attacks during the wedding will go for it first.”
“Eeep!” declared Green Grass, whose nerves were not helped by the fact that the mirror-lined walls of the dressing room reflected the image of one particular dragon dozens of times.
“A wedding means lots of wedding gifts, and that many presents in one place is sure to attract them like flies,” continued Spike.
“It could be worse,” prompted Sophia with a particularly envious avian glance at the glittering emerald that Spike had looped around the unresisting stallion’s neck. “You could have hundreds of greedy griffons in the area. Granddad once invaded an entire country for a bag of marbles⁽*⁾.”
(*) To Emperor Slash’s credit, they were very nice marbles.
—
“Urk!” said Green Grass, looking out the window at the immense zeppelin-shaped shadow that had just passed overhead.
“Well, looks like my father has finally made his appearance,” said Sophia, fluffing her feathers and taking a quick stretch of her wings. “We should probably head over to the castle so I can introduce all of you before the reception dinner this evening.” She paused, looking at Green Grass with an anticipatory expression, which he abruptly remembered as his cue.
“It’s too bad you don’t have anything to wear to the reception,” he managed to say.
“Nothing to wear?” Rarity stared in anger, a small cloud of scissors, thread, and measuring tapes forming behind her like a growing thunderhead as the other five young mares dove for cover. Sophia remained frozen in shock, much as an animal who just found themselves directly in the path of a speeding wedding train. “Nothing to wear! The Emperor of all Griffons, your father, is coming for a State Visit with Princess Celestia and you have nothing to wear?”
“Why didn’t you mention something earlier, Greenie!” protested Lady Spring. “We don’t have time to get something put together. Unless…” Her panicked gaze drifted over the collection of rejected wedding dresses and she yanked one of the less gaudy ones off its support with her magic.
“No!” gasped Rarity. “I couldn’t!”
“You must!” said Spring while drifting the dress over to the paralyzed fashionista. “I shall not send Königstochter Sophia of the High Nest out into that social battlefield without proper armor.”
“No! I mean that isn’t her color at all!” Rarity snatched a light blue bridalmare dress from further back and spread it out across the startled griffon, taking the scissors that Spring floated over to her with a firm magical grip and beginning to snip at a frenzied pace.
~ ~ ♥ ~ ~
Everything in Papercut’s life seemed to be running both horribly late and faster than he had ever dreamed. All of the diplomatic receptions he had attended as Princess Celestia’s appointment secretary had been rather bland and boring events where he had marked time in a back room or corridor, noshing off a few greens while attempting a crossword puzzle while the glamorous/boring events took place. He had never actually been inside one of the cavernous dining rooms during an event before, particularly as a guest, and double-particularly as the escort for one of the diplomats. Having Königstochter Sophia of the High Nest at his elbow while he gingerly picked his way through the crowds of greater and lesser pony nobility was several multiples of particular higher than he had ever gone, and the resulting altitude was a dizzying sensation that almost made him wish for some of Green Grass’ motion sickness pills. The diplomatic dinner reception had been packed with Royals seeking various forms of attention and favor from the Emperor, and to a somewhat lesser degree, the several dozen Griffon Wingmasters of whatever aeries that he brought with him, but to Papercut’s subtle irritation, the escort of the daughter of the Emperor seemed somewhat snubbed by comparison in the crush.
I suppose I know how Green Grass feels during these things now.
A sideways glance at the result of Rarity’s enthusiastic scissorwork on one of the unsuspecting bridalmaid dresses made the puzzle considerably more puzzling. A string of seed pearls woven into her crest made Sophia fairly glow in the lights, accented with a series of pale blue bows down the back of her neck and topped off with a daring abbreviated dress that was more absent than present. The other griffons at the event had all done a double-take upon seeing her for good reason, much like Papercut had done when he returned to the dressing room to pick up his green slavemaster only to find a winged and beaked goddess in the final stages of a five-minute magical makeover. Crosswind and Papercut both had been immediately dragged into the ongoing fray, and if Papercut stood on the tips of his hooves, he could just see the stunning pegasus and her older griffon photographer escort on the other side of the reception, being charming to barely half as many ponies as Sophia had attracted for conversation.
Apparently Rarity had a tendency to get carried away while in the throes of creation, a fact which he never would have guessed before and would never be able to forget afterwards. He had been stuffed into a suit, placed rather solidly beside Sophia, and thankfully ignored afterwards as the fashion tornado moved on to engulf both Crosswind and Princess Twilight Sparkle.
Currently, Princess Sparkle and Green Grass were being herded along with the bearers of the Elements of Harmony into the general vicinity of Emperor Ripping Claw while Papercut and his ‘escort’ had been subtly encouraged into drifting to the other end of the room to mingle, but there was one group of participants he expected to see at this evening’s event that seemed to be missing.
“I don’t see any of the Imperial Guard,” he mentioned to Sophia as they walked away from a small knot of socialites who had spotted more interesting conversational foils among the other golden-eyed griffons.
“Look harder,” said Sophia as she ran her talons through her crest to adjust one of the bows that was threatening to slump down across her back. “The Blutwache have been dismissed to act as guests for the evening, since my father is a visitor in your peaceful city, and the security is being handled so well by your Royal Guard.”
She glanced at one of the many golden-armored pegasi who was standing motionless by one wall, a decoration that had been applied rather liberally to the surroundings. “Father wishes this visit to be a symbol of how ponies and griffons can cooperate in all things. He called it a ‘cultural experience’ that I should treasure.” She rolled her sparkling green eyes in a dismissive fashion, but with the smallest of smiles peeking out around the corners of her beak.
“Blood Guard,” mused Papercut. “I recall reading something about how they’re hoof-picked from the Emperor’s most trusted Wingmasters, and are the only griffons permitted to draw steel in his presence. You don’t think he plans—” Papercut eyed the swarm of fawning nobles surrounding the distinctive figure of the sizable emperor and the somewhat small-looking by comparison Nocturne to his side while Sophia snorted in a most un-princesslike manner as if she could read his mind.
“Not a chance in Niflheim. Father is quite taken with you ponies and your innovative ways, but the High Nest already is most likely in feather-spitting chaos right now. Even the most liberal wings of our politicians would never be able to believe a pony could be a member of an aerie, let alone as Wingmaster. The news must be causing a mass moulting. Can you imagine what they would say if he tried to make the Night Terror into one of his personal guards?”
“I would imagine we could hear the screaming from Canterlot,” said Papercut, deftly maneuvering a pair of champagne flutes off a passing waiter’s tray. “That is, if we could hear it over the bellyaching of the Canterlot Royals over their new Pointless Prince. Would you like a drink before dinner, Mademoiselle?”
“Thank you, kind sir.” She plucked the glass of champagne out of the air and touched the rim of the glass to his. “What shall we drink to?” With a tilt of her head slightly to one side and the slightest of smiles around her beak, she added, “Long life to the new Prince? To love found in unexpected places?”
“To common sense,” he suggested. “To rational thought in predictable fashion.”
“To Chaos,” suggested Discord.
To Papercut’s credit, the champagne in his glass barely rippled as he turned to look at the strange and irregular draconequus who had appeared to his side. “Good evening, you little lovebirds,” purred Discord, chasing away a pair of small tweeting birds that burst out of Papercut’s tidy mane.
“G-good evening, D-d-discord. Sir.” The servant tried to stop stammering and straightened his spine, turning his panic into a smooth gesture at Sophia. “S-sophia, I would like to introduce one of P-princess Twilight’s friends, D-discord. Discord, this is Soft Wisdom From Mountain Peaks Flowing Down, Daughter of Emperor Ripping Claw, otherwise known as Königstochter Sophia.”
“Charmed,” purred Discord, gently kissing her outstretched claw, which apparently she had extended in reflex and was too startled to retract. “I do so enjoy the work your empire has been doing as of late, particularly among your Grand Council. Sometimes I just drop by and watch the squabbling for simply hours.”
“Ahhh…” Sophia watched the kiss that had been placed on her claw grow tiny little legs and arms before breaking out into a miniscule tap dance. “Thank you?”
“Well, I’d love to stay and chat, but dear Fluttershy needs me and I’m only booked for a brief cameo. Ta.” He grasped his face by the goatee and tugged before rolling up like a spring-loaded blind, flapping in a circle and vanishing in a brief flash of peppermint snowflakes.
“That was… weird,” said Sophia.
“I just had a tiny little twinge of sympathy for Green Grass,” said Papercut, still holding his drink, but observing the small goldfish-shaped ice cubes that were cavorting around among the bubbles, not certain if the piscine proclivities of the contents were what disturbed him most or the thought of what kind of twisted mind would put ice in such a fine vintage of champagne.
* ♥ *
Any formal dinner among pony Royals was a veritable ballet of food and servants taking place in one of the large ornate dining rooms with only the lack of music to differentiate it from actual entertainment. Still, Papercut felt entertained if nothing else. Sophia had been the very model of a perfect griffon princess as he escorted her around the reception, and as they made their way across the floor of the rapidly-filling dining hall, she fairly floated by his side in a harmonious pairing that lasted right until Crosswind cast a fairly thunderous glance at him when they reached their table.
“Your seat, Your Highness,” he murmured while pulling out the rather odd griffon-styled chair and trying to ignore the irritated pegasus.
“Smile, please.” Sleet fiddled with his camera as Sophia and Papercut held still for the moment it took the older griffon to take their picture, and resumed their seating process after the shutter clicked.
“Mister Sleet, I would think you have dozens of pictures of Princess Sophia by—”
“Miss Sophia,” she corrected.
“As you are the daughter of the His Majesty, Emperor Ripping Claw, it is the bare minimum of respect to address you by your correct title, regardless of your eye coloring,” said Papercut in as level a tone as he could manage. “My owner and his mother both refer to you as princess, so it would be disrespectful for me to do otherwise.”
“Ha, I tink you haff twigged a spark in your polite young stallion,” huffed Sleet with a twinkle in his golden eyes as he turned his camera to the dining room door again and began photographing both ponies and griffons as they entered.
At Papercut’s questioning look, Sophia rolled her eyes again. “The only way that griffons will acknowledge a title from me is if I were to be mated to a royal. The lowest idiot in Great Griffon with golden eyes can claim to be Grand Poobah of Marasha, but this daughter of the emperor is on the lowest perch beneath even him.”
“The lowest griffon does not attend Griffon-Warrington University,” said Crosswind. “I had to fetch your file for Twilight, and I caught a little of it while she was reading. It seems you’ve been a regular around Canterlot for the last few months doing preparatory work for your father’s visit in addition to your training for the Equestrian Games cross-country team.”
“True, as far as it goes.” Sophia took a beak full of water out of her glass and tilted her head back to swallow as if she were washing the taste of something out of her mouth. “The diplomats have been wrangling permission for father’s formal visit to the Equestrian lands for over a year. Then when the Crystal Empire appeared just under two months ago, all of their plans went straight over the cliff. After all, he’s only going to last so—”
Sophia cut off abruptly and cleared her throat. After a few tense moments of studying the griffons filtering into the dining room she added, “The only real task I’ve been given is flying messages between here and Manehattan. Father’s important diplomatic agreements have been handled by others. Protocol has always been rather stiff and slow between our kinds.”
“I beg to differ,” said Papercut with a scowl. “Lord Green Grass embarrassed Prince Consort Shining Armor into extending him an invitation to the Crystal Empire with almost no warning at all, and Princess Twilight Sparkle seems to have overridden protocol to an unprecedented degree by directly inviting the emperor to her wedding. I certainly hope that their irrational and spontaneous proclivities do not rub off on the rest of the court. He is a bad influence.”
“Who, my father?” asked Sophia.
“No.” Papercut took several deep breaths and looked over to the door to the dining hall where Princess Twilight and her fiancé were entering. “Him.”
After watching the Royal Couple and their colorful group work their way through the friendly ponies who insisted on one last hoof shake or word, Sophia added, “Father always said that protocol is for little chicks, when I suspect what he really meant was that protocol is for everygriffon but him. That’s why he was late to Canterlot this afternoon. The zeppelin was cruising over this fairly large lake in the northern mountains when he decided it was the perfect time to go fishing.”
“Fishing?” Papercut took a brief but somewhat nervous look at the place settings. “Don’t tell me that—”
“It’s supposed to be a surprise, but yes, grilled trout is on the menu,” said Sophia, looking over at where Crosswind was giggling into her napkin. “Father’s private chef was to fly the entire collection to the Royal Kitchens upon landing and finish all preparations totally by himself without a single pony helping other than to serve. He called it a triumph of griffon magic over pony magic, and it will be a high honor for every one of the aristocracy that are traveling with him, including the off-duty Blutwache.”
“Fish?” Papercut swallowed rather firmly. “Only for the griffons, correct?”
An audible giggle finally broke through Crosswind’s napkin. “I thought you were determined that there wasn’t anything an ‘earth pony’ could do that a unicorn couldn’t do better. Are you adding griffons to the list?”
The giggle appeared to be contagious as Sophia snorted once with a shake of her head. “Oh, don’t taunt the poor thing so much, dear. Unicorns have a very delicate digestion, quite unlike earth ponies.”
Unable to compete with the two females of different species chattering together, and being ignored by the male photographer, Papercut sat back in his chair and tried not to think about fish as the rest of the dining hall filled up. Sleet kept himself busy with a constant clicking of the expensive camera, giving little outbursts every once in a while just as a happy birdwatcher might exclaim to see a Lesser Tufted Nuthatch or a Yellow-Breasted Tit. While photographing, he even heaved a heartfelt “Oh, wonderful!” when Baron Chrysanthemum and his wife strode into the dining hall, watching them being seated somewhat closer to the large number of griffon guests than Papercut would have been comfortable with.
A few quick questions between photographs revealed that although most of the griffons were Wingmasters from the scattered Equestrian aeries, there were still some Wingmasters from Great Griffon aeries mixed in among them, as well as the off-duty Imperial Guards, who were also a mix of former Wingmasters and higher rank griffon Royals. It was a little creepy to think that so many of who just a few centuries ago had been Equestria’s greatest foes were now mixed in with pony Royals in a somewhat uneasy but still congenial dinner, particularly after what Papercut had experienced at the Misty Mountain aerie. He knew beyond a doubt that pony was not on the menu for the evening, but it still felt comforting to scan down the selections of rice pilaf and iced fruit swirls without seeing ‘Annoying Appointment Secretary, browned on both sides and served with a light vinaigrette sauce and a side of asparagus’ written in the margin somewhere.
A surreptitious glance at his watch gave him the vaguely cathartic pleasure that the Royal Sisters were running late, a deficiency that Kibbitz had been quite stringent about training Papercut to avoid. The assistant appointment secretary who had been filling in for his position actually was gauche enough to be seen, poking her head out from around the corner and looking around the room to determine if the guests had all been seated yet. It reminded him that there were only a few days now until the wedding and the ending of his sentence, when Papercut would return to Princess Celestia’s side and Crosswind would…
Crosswind would…
Not.
The thought bothered him far more than it should have, and constantly came back to rest firmly in front of his eyes as the evening wore on and the introductory speeches were made. Green Grass looked so comfortable, wedged in between the fledgeling griffon princess and Princess Twilight Sparkle, a hornless green blotch between royal purple and regal violet feathers, even if some of those feathers were mere suggestions of a vibrant new set of griffon plumage. The tutor certainly had no problems with wings, even though the princess he was to wed was featherless when they met. When the distant earth pony stood to make a short speech, Green Grass even seemed remarkably in-place, much as a puzzle piece would fit firmly into a slot despite a first glance that revealed no correct coloration.
When the speeches were over and the dining began, Papercut dawdled with his spoon as the soup was served. He found himself trying his best not to look at Crosswind, who had promptly shredded a stack of hay crackers into the lumpy potato concoction. Instead, he watched the high table where Emperor Ripping Claw and Princess Celestia seemed to be enjoying a private joke, with the little griffon princess next to Green Grass leaning so far out into the table to see what was going on that she managed to dunk one wing into her own soup. While Green Grass fussed with a napkin and the waiters brought a replacement bowl for Princess Sunny, Papercut noticed a somewhat odd hesitation that filled the entire banquet hall.
“Why are all of the griffons just holding their spoons instead of eating?” asked Papercut in a low whisper to Sleet, who had barely noticed the untouched bowl of soup when it had been sat on the table behind him.
“The eldest has rights upon the first bite of the prey,” whispered Sleet back, not even pausing as he continued to click his shutter. “Well, technically the eldest Persönlichkeit would be Princess Celestia, but in der Griefreich hierarchy, der emperor is considered older than anygriffon present. Dhere!” One final click from the shutter sounded as the griffon emperor took a spoonful of soup and nodded in obvious pleasure, being followed by the click and clatter of nearly a hundred other griffons tucking into their meal with considerable enthusiasm.
“They’re just potatoes,” said Papercut with a skeptical glance at his own bowl, which was suspiciously large, much as if a certain green annoyance had passed along a secret order to fatten his appointment secretary up. He did however dip in and take a spoonful just for manners sake, and a second spoonful for the sake of his company. It was thick, rich and creamy, bursting with flavor that meshed well with the grass crackers. His previous reluctance cracked, and he proceeded to cautiously make a substantial dent in the remainder of the relatively plain soup before sliding it over to Crosswind after she had finished hers and was making the most plaintive begging eyes while waiting for the next dish.
Picking up the flagging conversation from a discussion he had once overheard from Princess Celestia, Papercut said, “Princess Sophia, I understand that the Griffon Empire has been relatively resistant to the importation of potato products from our western provinces. Do you think that Emperor Ripping Claw might be open to an alteration in our trading agreements to permit greater access to our food products in exchange for Coltland wool or Prench wine import restrictions being loosened?”
“I really don’t have anything to do with our trade negotiations,” said Sophia as she finished off the last bite of her soup and swapped the empty bowl with her associate, who had not even taken a bite yet due to his constant photography.
“Really.” Papercut raised one eyebrow a fraction and turned slightly to express his skepticism, only to be met by a subtle rolling of the eyes by the griffon princess and a faint shrug of the shoulders that indicated a reluctance as to her part in the dance of diplomacy that she was playing, but a certain firm insistence that she was going to play by the rules she had been given regardless. It was such a casual and fluid expression of Unicorn Gesture that Papercut was momentarily taken aback before nodding in understanding and indicating with a flick of one ear that he too was following a script that he would prefer not to be bound by, but was likewise going to stay within his restrictions.
The next course arrived with great trepidation on Papercut’s behalf, but instead of the fish he was dreading, it turned out to be a delightful eggplant and egg casserole with little bits of vegetables and a sharp tang to the spices that made him grab for his water glass several times. “Hot,” he managed to gasp between gulps.
“Wonderful,” sighed Sophia between huge forkfuls of the smoldering substance.
“What are griffons made out of?” gasped Crosswind after finishing her glass of water and holding it out to be refilled by Papercut. “Are there dragons in your ancestry somewhere?”
“No,” said Sleet, taking a brief break from a rapid series of photographs featuring other surprised pony Royals with much the same reaction to their meal. He forked out two quick bites from his plate before returning to his photographic mission with intense concentration. “Just Eagle Father and Cat Mother. Ponies have such sensitive tongues.”
“So I’ve noticed,” said Sophia, hardly even pausing to chew as she swallowed another bite. “I’ve been talking with Princess Sunny. Did you know that Green Grass once preened Princess Celestia?”
Her timing was perfect. A narrow spray of barely-chewed casserole sprayed out across the table from both ponies, and they coughed and spluttered as Sophia passed them some extra napkins that she had been holding in a rather suspiciously convenient fashion.
“How could he do that?” whispered Papercut once he had managed to recover from coughing.
“Why would he do that?” echoed Crosswind, just a few syllables behind him.
Sophia shrugged. “We griffons have pony servants groom our wings all of the time. With the proper training, they’re much better at it and can reach all the spots we can’t.” She eyed Papercut with an interrogatory rising of both eyebrows. “Don’t tell me that in all of the months you’ve spent in training with Princess Celestia—”
“No!” hissed Papercut, hunching his shoulders and trying not to look at the head table where he was absolutely positive that Princess Celestia would be looking back while concealing her smile. “I’ve never preened Her Highness’ wings. I’ve never been asked to preen her wings. Nopony has ever asked me to preen their wings.” He paused with a horrible sense of reality sinking down over his body like cold tar and the certain knowledge that any words he were to utter in the next few sentences would shape his future until his dying day.
“That’s not to say I wouldn’t, if asked politely,” he added. “In words, that is. Mere gestures can be misinterpreted.” He looked up at where Crosswind was still trying to hide behind a napkin, unsure if the giggling that he could hear was directed at him or… No, it was directed at him. “And I’d need a tube of Preen Balm.”
“Wonderful,” said Sophia, passing her empty plate to the waiter who was bringing their candied pineapple slices as a palate cleanser before the main course. “I’ll see you in my room after the dinner. You’ll have to bring your own Preen Balm, though. Mine is with my lost luggage.”
“Eh. Wha?” Papercut could do nothing but sit and stare at the yellow lumps of pineapple on his plate while his brain attempted to make sense of his situation.
“You can invite your marefriend along,” said Sophia, eating her own pineapple in one gulp. “That way I can get both wings done at once.
“Ubba?” said Crosswind, apparently just as taken aback as Papercut.
Sophia waved a wingtip while stifling a burp, a motion that somehow caused the pieces of candied pineapple on both of the servants’ plates to vanish. “Sure. After a feed like this, it’s going to take forever for my crop to settle down.” She made a second motion around her beak and chewed for a moment before swallowing again. “I’m not going to fly or be able to get to sleep all tilted forward, and that’s before the main course. Might as well have somepony to talk with.” She bobbed her head, her filled crop making her look a little like a fat-necked bird as she cast one longing glance at the line of pony waiters with covered trays coming out of the kitchen entrance.
“Fish,” said Papercut, shocked out of his shock by a greater and considerably nearer fishy shock.
“Grilled Butterflied Trout served with Curried Rice Pilaf,” added Sophia. “Cook Flay always does it up right with enough curry to light your feathers on fire.”
A sideways glance at the high table did a little to soothe Papercut’s frazzled nerves, as it appeared that Lord Green Grass was having just as much of a suppressed nervous fit over the introduction of an aquatic main course to his dining menu. It also drew his attention to a different pony at the high table sitting directly at the side of Emperor Ripping Claw, for some reason. If Green Grass looked a little greener from the upcoming fish dish, Wingmaster Pumpernickel had nearly changed from his previous charcoal grey to a light green hue too, casting little terrified glances down the table at the rest of Twilight Sparkle’s friends for some reason. Certainly just because he was a wingmaster of a griffon aerie did not mean he was going to be served the same fishy dish, or at least that was what Papercut was repeating to himself as he hoped that a guest of griffon royalty would be accorded the same dining preferences.
“Here you go, sir,” said the waiter, slipping a plate in front of Papercut only to have his lapels grabbed rather impetuously by the nervous servant.
“It’s not a fish, is it?” asked Papercut in less of a question than a demand.
“No, sir.” The waiter reclaimed his collar from Papercut’s grasp and adjusted his uniform minutely. “It is the finest tofu from our kitchens, grilled and prepared with fresh grated lemon, Minosioan peppers, Indhayian curry, and Neighpal mountain parsley flakes to exactly the same specifications as Chef Flay prepared the Griffon portion of this evening’s meal, but if you would like to try one of the remaining trout, I’m certain that the chef would be overjoyed that his creations are appreciated by the pony community.”
“No,” said Papercut in a very small, strained voice. “I’m fine.”
“Or if you happen to be allergic to fish,” continued the waiter with ill-concealed pleasure, “Chef Sizzler has prepared a delicious Lapin A La Bourguignonne in honor of the Royal Couple. It’s garnished with Canterlot mountain mushrooms and Ponyville truffles, with just a touch of the Royal greenhouse’s famous shallots shaved over the dish before roasting, served with small bits of roast pork and bacon in the same curried rice pilaf, and topped with—”
The waiter cut off abruptly and cupped one hoof to his ear, which would not have disturbed Papercut so much if a similar motion at the head table where Princess Twilight Sparkle was surreptitiously talking into her mane had not caught his eye. After a brief period of nodding, the somewhat subdued waiter turned back to Papercut with a polite, “Will that be all, sir?”
“Yes,” he squeaked, determined to keep his concentration on the table and ignore the rapid clicking of the griffon photographer’s shutter as he documented much similar reactions from the rest of the pony Royals in the banquet hall.
There was a long conversational fish-shaped hole that followed, unfilled by either pony or the main aquatic subject of the silence. Sophia’s fish was an enormous creature, reaching all the way across the plate from one tail-covered end to the other head-covered end, only with the skin flensed from the dark flesh all along the length in order for fire to have wreaked delectable havoc in short blackened lines that criss-crossed over the corpse. What was worse, Papercut felt almost positive that the silent fish was somehow looking back at him with wide, unblinking eyes, indicating that its fate was his fault for some reason, and that a similar fate lay in store for deceitful unicorn servants who attempted to get in the way of a princess choosing her own mate.
“I wonder what’s going on at the head table,” said Crosswind, momentarily shaking Papercut out of his fish-related funk.
“I’m not sure,” said Papercut once he had gotten a look at where the waitstaff was distributing plates among the various royalty. “I can barely see from here, but it looks like there’s some sort of dispute in the dish being served to that rather odd Wingmaster of the Misty Mountain.” He concealed a shudder. “Perhaps his fish is not raw and bloody enough.”
“Makes sense, I suppose,” said Sophia, who kept casting little envious glances at her fish while waiting for the emperor to take the first bite. The rest of the griffons in the dining hall were mirroring her attitude, but the dispute around the emperor had drawn the attention of both pony and griffon until the sound of clinking silverware and glasses was nearly absent.
“Ach, dat’s what it is,” muttered Sleet, lining up his next photograph through his telephoto lens with special care. “The staff at the head table apparently brought him a tofu instead of a fish, and Emperor Ripping Claw is objecting. After all, he iss a Vingmaster. Vould anyone like to place a bet on how this vill end?”
“Badly,” said Papercut with a shudder and a quick glance at Sophia’s fish, which he could almost swear had winked at him. And with Discord in the same room, it was possible.
“I know some pegasi do, but I can’t imagine anypony actually eating a fish,” said Crosswind with a matching shudder as she pushed away her own plate containing a hefty slice of grilled tofu.
“Green Grass did.” Sophia continued looked at the distant High Table as the two ponies gawked at her. “Princess Sunny loves to talk about her dinner with Princess Celestia. Apparently Celestia was considered the eldest Persönlichkeit there. Everypony present sampled Chef Sizzler’s trout, and I would lay even odds that is what prompted my father to propose a little demonstration of Chef Flay’s talent this evening.”
“Everypony?” Papercut’s voice was quite weak, but carried all the way across the table in the dead silence that filled the dining hall as every pony and griffon was focused on the actions of the Emperor and his favored guest. “Even the Princess?”
Sophia giggled. “She said it was c'est magnifique.” The giggling only intensified as the griffon held a napkin to her beak. “Sunny even said that on the next day she shared some of her roast rabbit with Greenie.”
“A bunny?” Papercut tried not to look at the High Table and the bearers of the Elements of Harmony seated along one side, including a very small highchair for Fluttershy’s pet rabbit, who had been acting suspiciously good all evening.
“I’ll bet she tries to share her fish again tonight,” whispered Sophia. “And, I’ll bet he eats it.”
“Lord Green Grass would never…” Papercut trailed off and considered just exactly the lengths to which the dull green stallion went to frustrate his every effort in both matrimonial planning and proprietary. Although he really did not think that Green Grass would actually eat even the smallest bite of fish, losing a bet in that regard would be worth it. “You’re on,” he said. “Terms?”
“If Sunny offers him a bite of fish, you have to help preen my wings tonight.”
“If Lord Green Grass eats a bite of fish tonight, I shall be honored to offer whatever practical assistance with your evening toilet that you may require,” countered Papercut. “Although I am untrained in that particular regard.”
“I’m in,” said Crosswind with a particular quirk to the corner of her mouth that indicated she was looking forward to the training. “But if he does not eat fish this evening, we want something in return. A week’s vacation in Great Griffon once the wedding is over.”
Before Papercut could object, Sophia said, “Done,” with a certain enthusiasm that belied her innocent expression. “I’ll even show you around. You know, the Griffon Empire does employ quite a few ponies in the various ranks of our bureaucracy. Maybe we can even throw in a job offer.”
“No thank you, Princess Sophia,” said Papercut without a moment’s hesitation. “One work-related trip to an Equestrian Griffon aerie is sufficient for a lifetime.”
“Oh, come on,” prompted Crosswind. “Greenie seemed to think that a honeymoon in Great Griffon would be a great idea. You’re not going to chicken out on something that he’d be willing to do, are you?”
“Our Empire has many ponies in it,” said Sophia. “In fact, there are nearly five ponies for every griffon. You don’t have to make a decision now, but I’m certain that your experience as Princess Celestia’s personal appointment secretary would be a fine recommendation for any position in our government. Particularly with as smoothly as the wedding schedule has gone. Seven weeks and no Equestria-rending disasters to speak of.”
“Or at least none that have become public,” said Crosswind, turning to Sophia. “Speaking of which, how did Princess Twilight’s visit to the Misty Mountains aerie go? Cut won’t say a thing about it.”
“Oh, about the usual,” said Sophia, seemingly engrossed by the distant discussion taking place next to her father and Equestria’s oddest Wingmaster. “Twilight visited one of Sunny’s fledgelinghood friends, got permission for her to be in the wedding. Nothing dramatic. Or so I’ve heard. Father’s trip to the Crystal Empire was much more interesting. Oh, my. Father seems to have settled the dispute over Wingmaster Pumpernickel’s dish.”
The griffon emperor had just finished taking a huge knife to his fish and jammed a fork into the resulting hunk of charred flesh before placing it on Pumpernickel’s plate with a ‘plop’ that was audible all the way through the deadly silent dining hall.
“Same bet, different pony?” whispered Sophia.
Papercut and Crosswind both nodded.
With a flourish of his fork, Emperor Ripping Claw dug into his own fish and took a huge bite. “Delicious!” he proclaimed in a stentorian bellow, diving in for a second bite, fork-first.
There was a significant clatter of cutlery as the rest of the griffons dug in, some of whom even abandoned protocol in order to go beak-first into the plate for more rapid consumption. Sophia’s knife and fork flashed as she ate, leaving both ponies to stare in repressed horror at the resulting carnage, while Sleet kept to an almost constant string of photography, barely even stopping for a moment to change crystalline film canisters and grab a forkful of his own fish.
“He’s doing it,” whispered Crosswind, drawing Papercut’s attention to the high table where Green Grass was rather skeptically observing a somewhat large chunk of fish that Princess Sunny had just offered.
“They’re both doing it,” murmured Papercut, glancing over at where the bat-winged pony at the emperor’s side was chewing rather thoughtfully. “Disgusting.”
The griffons were whooping quietly under their breath at the sight of the dark pony picking up his fork and prodding his plate for a second bite of fish while the ponies in the dining hall seemed entranced at the interplay between the cute little griffon princess and the awkward green earth pony as Green Grass picked up the fork that Sunny had just passed to him.
Regarded the sizable lump of fish sitting on it.
And ate it, right there, without even a grimace or other distasteful expression. He even managed to look happy at the taste, passing the fork back to the little griffon princess while whispering something in return.
Papercut took his own fork and jabbed it down into his dish again. “I can’t believe it. There must be some sort of trickery involved. Lord Green Grass could not…” He trailed off as he chewed, becoming dreadfully aware that the bite of ‘tofu’ that he had just taken had a much different texture and taste than what he had just been eating previously. He wanted to spit it out and wash his mouth out with as much bourbon as he could lay his hooves on, but there were two young ladies at the table, and as much as his pony instincts objected to his rather unexpected dietary experience, a true gentlecolt does not throw up in public. He spared the table a quick and futile glance in the hope that he had perhaps taken a forkful of napkin by accident, but no.
Taking the supreme act of willpower by swallowing the rather large bite of trout, Papercut gently levitated Sleet’s plate back over to him and reclaimed his own tofu from where Sophia had moved it. After a precise small sip of wine, he remarked, “Very amusing, Your Highness.”
“Yes, it was,” she snorted, finishing off the last of her trout except the head with a few quick jabs of her fork and regarding the lightly-touched trout at Sleet’s side of the table. With a calculated motion that swapped plates at the height of Sleet’s distracted fork movement, his half-eaten fish exchanged positions with her empty plate, and she settled down to finish it off. “So how did you like your brief exposure to our diet, Mister Papercut?”
“Different,” he admitted over a forkful of tofu to wash the taste out of his mouth. “Not quite what I expected, but surprises are what keep life interesting, I suppose.” He chewed the tofu for a while in order to get up his confidence. There was something about it that bothered him more than the fishy aftertaste, but the recipe spell was not giving him the answer that he wanted.
He really did not want to do what he was about to do. It would have been easy to avoid it a few weeks ago, but the longer he spent with the scroungy green teacher, the more important finding the answers to difficult questions seemed to become. Taking a deep breath and a sip of wine to cleanse his palate, he asked, “Could I try a second piece of fish, please?”
All conversation around their small table stopped immediately. Even Sleet stopped taking pictures in order to cast a curious glance in his direction. “Purely for curiosity’s sake,” he added. “The waiter claimed the recipes were the same, but the fish had a certain… sharp bite to it that I did not expect.”
“I had no idea there was Griffon blood in your ancestry,” snarked Sophia as she carved off a small bite of her purloined fish and placed it on Papercut’s plate.
“My mother was an excellent cook, but alas, unfeathered and unbeaked.” He took the forkful of fish and inhaled briefly before biting down and chewing. By concentrating on the recipe spell instead of the substance being eaten, it was far easier than he expected, and also somewhat mitigated by the breathtaking flavor that seared along his abused taste buds. After a few moments of silence around the table, he swallowed and continued, “Curious. The recipe spell shows some differences between the two dishes. Other than just fish.”
“Chef Flay always has his secrets,” said Sophia while holding another bite of fish on her fork and regarding it with a skeptical look. “There’s enough curry on this to make my tongue numb, though.”
“Vhatever it is, it seems that your princess hass much the same streak of curiosity,” said Sleet, his telephoto lens fixed on the high table where Green Grass was passing a forkful of fish from the little griffon princess over to… Twilight Sparkle. The importance of discerning whatever herb that the griffon chef had flavored the fish with shrank to insignificance over the sight of an alicorn with a bite of the same fish floating in front of her nose. The clatter of silverware in the dining hall quieted as every pony and griffon regarded the silent princess, who was regarding the small chunk of fish with intense concentration.
“You don’t think she’s going to… eat it, do you?” whispered Crosswind.
“Most likely she’s going to use the recipe spell too,” said Papercut, mostly out of hope that perhaps Her Highness was just curious, although some small portion of him still held the futile hope that she would be so incensed at Green Grass’ offer that she would reject the upcoming nuptials. His musing was cut off as Twilight Sparkle’s eyes suddenly glowed bright white and little green flecks of fire danced over the small piece of fish in front of her, as well as every remaining piece of fish in the dining hall.
Princess Sparkle jumped to the top of the table and shouted, “Henbane! The fish is covered in henbane!”
To Papercut’s abject shock, Green Grass reacted to the words by grabbing Princess Sun Shines and thrusting a hoof into her neck, followed almost instantly by Wingmaster Pumpernickel assaulting Emperor Ripping Claw in nearly the exact same fashion.
But it was a far greater shock when Crosswind flung herself past him and across the table to plant a hoof directly into Sophia’s throat.