Chapter 17: Meeting the Stable
Just after Celestia sent the letter to Twilight, she drew up seven more personalized versions for the members of the Stable of Nobles. They represented the oldest families in the Equestrian Nobility, either having founded vassal states on the fringes of the country or were closely related to the Royal Family and their ancestors had been given domain over the lands they ‘administered’. Because of their status in government, they were also given Dragon Fire Candles. Functioning much like Spike does for Twilight, Celestia could send and receive letters from the Stable members via these everlasting flames.
Once each letter had been finished, she sent six of them to their intendeds with her magic and levitated the seventh over to a servant. Having sent the messages on their way, she grit her teeth in preparation for the coming meeting. It was scheduled for two days from then and she needed to mentally ready herself for the bickering, screaming, and foolish attitudes that is the Stable of Nobles.
Prince Blueblood was quickest to summon to Canterlot, as he usually lived within the palace itself. That does not mean that informing him of the summons was easy. The butler who had taken the scroll from the Princesses in his regular two piece suit and black bowtie first went to his room, where he showered, perfumed his coat with obnoxious 7th century A.D. oils, braded his mane in a fashion popular at that era, and scrubbed his teeth vigorously with heavy duty toothpaste.
Once all that was done, the poor stallion put on a seven piece suit that included a cummerbund, a vest, and a puffy, lacey shirt, and a short powdered wig that covered his horn. He took the summons, placed it on a silver tray for this very occasion, and proceeded to walk out of his room on three legs, as the fourth was carrying letter. The guards knew what his getup meant and four proceeded to escort him to Prince Blueblood’s quarters, knowing the way by heart. They also pitied the stallion immensely for having to do this. Many members of the Guard considered being a butler for Prince Blueblood a tougher job than what they had to do and gave Prim and Proper immense respect.
Prim and Proper were the only two servants in Canterlot Castle who were used exclusively by the Prince, since they were the only ones on the staff who hadn’t been driven insane or had mental breakdowns after three weeks. The twins had been raised in a strict, upper middle class home, given lessons in manners by the finest instructors, taught etiquette by the staff of the castle, and drilled in patience by literally watching grass grow and paint dry. The twins were only identifiable by their cutie marks if you looked closely. Both had a crossed cane and top hat, the only distinction being that Prim had the cane over the top hat and Proper the other way around. The former was the one currently in the getup, as his brother attended to Prince Blueblood in his apartment.
Blueblood and his servants spent their time at his country estate during this time of the year, but an issue with the Royal Guard and palace staff had detained them here for a week or so longer than expected. As such, the latter brother was the one listening to a tirade from the Prince.
“This is the absolute worst thing since Auntie named that imbecile mare as her protégé!” He ranted, pacing furiously. Proper dutifully nodded in agreement. “I cannot believe that such a thing could be allowed!” The servant knew better than to add anything to the Prince’s rant, since it went against everything he had been taught by his parents and he’d seen the Prince give tongue lashings to others in his position who had. And they weren’t the dirty kind. Internally, he sighed sadly that the Prince was petty enough to rant on how the Royal Guard was stepping up its security since Ex-Captain Shining Armor retired from his position to prevent a conflict of interest.
This had caused some new security measures to be instigated, including the issuing of ID cards for ponies in high stations and the creation of security questions. In order for this not to back fire, each pony given an ID card was also screened beforehoof to make sure they weren’t changelings. Prince Blueblood, since he was a member of the Stable, had been given a particularly thorough screening involving a DNA test and a physical. By a military doctor. With cold hooves. Luckily though, before the next part of the rant could begin Prim knocked sharply at the door. As his twin brother moved to answer, the guard escorting the oddly dressed pony edged out of the way, so that they wouldn’t be seen by the Prince.
"How may I help you?” The servant asked as he opened the door, although he knew perfectly well what the get up his brother was in meant.
“A message for His Grace.” Prim answered neutrally.
“From?”
“The Solar Princess.”
“Let him in already!” Blueblood snapped, almost pushing Proper out of the way as he moved to the door and levitated the scroll off the plate himself. Flippantly breaking the seal, something only he could do, the Prince read the message and his attitude seemed to mellow somewhat.
“Well then. It seems there is a gathering of the Stable in two days.” A collective sigh from the Royal Guardsponies outside the door earned them a sharp reprimand from the unicorn and sparked a new rant on their behavior. Only Prim and Proper bore it without shaking.
DeGual, the President of Prance, loved the irony of his title. His position was inherited like every other vassals was, but since he was called President he didn’t come off as snobbish and ridiculous as the other members of the nobility. His full title included ‘Duke’, ‘Eminence’, and ‘President’, and thoroughly annoyed him at the length. As such, President DeGual shortened it to just that for important meetings and business affairs within Prance.
“Monsieur le Président.” An aid said, getting the stallions attention. Reclined in his desk chair, DeGual had taken a short breather after reviewing and signing a law that the Prench Senate had taken three months to create and tear down as the various committees had their say. Sighing over the bureaucratic process, he looked to his aid and saw that she was holding a scroll in her magic.
“From la Princesse?” He asked rhetorically, though the aid nodded anyways. Motioning for them to bring it over, DeGual eyed to parchment warily. Messages from the Princess were rarely good and often involved him doing things with the other vassals that subtly reminded not only the populace of their domains, but themselves who was in charge. Breaking the seal, he scanned it with a frown.
“Something wrong?” The aid inquired.
“Not really. Just a summons for a Stable meeting in two days’ time.” He answered evenly.
“I’ll prepare your bags.” The aid responded as they left. DeGual nodded and sighed once the door was closed. While he enjoyed travel, doing so for business only antagonized his stomach and tended to give him a lack of appetite. Stress was very common in his line of work and he could handle it well, but that didn’t mean he enjoyed doing so.
“I need to move up my spa vacation.” He remarked wistfully, slouching in his chair and pushing the senate bill away from him.
Tsar Nickels, iron hoofed ruler of Stalliongrad, Mosscow, and Kitev, was currently holding court. As a vassal of Equestria, he was allowed control over his domain to the point where his policies did not conflict with the Royal Decrees of the Princesses or any laws applied to the vassals by the National Parliament. Both of these annoyed the hell out of him and chaffed on his nerves like nothing else. If there was one thing he hated, it was taking orders from others about his lands and citizens. Like how he couldn’t pass out the death penalty without approval from the Princesses. He ignored the fact that his ancestors had been bequeathed most of the land that he administrated, and had repeatedly tried to say that the lands they'd conquered since were out side Equestrian jurisdiction.
“My Tsar.” A guard bowed, bearing a gold platter that was meant for one thing and one thing only. Growling quietly, Tsar Nickels turned away from the petitioner and levitated the scroll over to him. Tearing at the seal, he read the message with a large frown and it only got larger.
“It seems…” He snarled, glowering at the parchment. “that the… Princess wishes to collect the Stable for a meeting in two days’ time.” If it wasn’t a crime to destroy royal correspondence before its orders were carried out, he would have burned the parchment. The current petitioner quickly left, knowing the short temper of his Tsar would ignite if he asked for a resolution on his issue. Word quickly spread about the development and the locals of Stalliongrad quietly stampeded out of the castle, hoping not to incur his wrath.
“No other petitioners have come forth.” A guard said, internally pleading that he didn’t upset the Tsar. The stallion glowered at the scroll for a few moments, oblivious to the guard, before nodding slowly.
“Very well.” He answered tersely before turning to the messenger. “Have the staff prepare my things and ready my train car.” The order was carried out quickly and two hours after the message had arrived Tsar Nickles was sitting in a cushioned chair in his private car as the express train pulled out of Stalliongrad Central. The entire train ride would be spent in deep contemplation of his contempt for Equestria, the Princesses, and the Stable.
Cyclone was the easiest going of the Stable. As the head of the liberal faction, he was the most antagonizing to Prince Blueblood and thoroughly enjoyed mocking his out dated beliefs. The greying stallion also happened to be the oldest of the council at 63, but that in no way meant he was an old fool. He was just as sharp as any pony a third his age and as quick as one half his age.
Leaned over his desk, the only elected member of the Stables reviewed paperwork for an expansion of the weather factory. His position was decided upon by the Council of Cloudsdale as a special exemption to the standard method of entering the Stable. Because Cloudsdale was the only city that specialized in making weather for the entirety of Equestria, other townships could make weather as well but on a smaller scale, the Princesses had given them representation on the Stable. This only irritated Prince Blueblood even more.
“Mr. Cyclone.” The intercom buzzed, the voice of his secretary carrying through. “There’s a scroll here for you.” The aging stallion looked up from the paperwork and sighed. Pressing the intercom button, he straightened his posture.
“Send it in.” He requested politely. Immediately an aid came in and gave him the message. Unlike the others, the candle for Cloudsdale was not in his private study. It was in the Council’s chambers and was read by at least three members of the Council before being passed on to him. As such, the seal was broken already and it wasn’t tightly rolled anymore. Unrolling it, he smiled lightly because it allowed him to put off the annoying paperwork. Unfortunately, it also meant he had to see Prince Blueblood again.
“It seems that I’m leaving for Canterlot tonight.” He smirked. The aid nodded and took the parchment back from the stallion. Rising from his desk, Cyclone set the paperwork in the ‘Do It Later’ drawer and left the office just behind the aid. Taking the rest of the afternoon off, he flew home and packed for his trip, a persistent yet small smile on his face.
Lace Curtain, elder cousin of Prince Blueblood, was the only Stable member not on the job when summoned. Duchess Curtain had drawn a hot, soothing bath in her mansion outside of Trottingham to help her recover from a nasty flu. In her bathroom, Victorian furniture mingled with a few modern conveniences like electric lamps, modern plumbing, and a sound proof set of walls. Her footed bathtub was ringed by a number of candles, designed to ever so slightly perfume the air. Testing the water with a forehoof, she smiled at finding it the proper temperature and used her magic to start a soothing record. Octavia’s Classical Continuum began to play as she slowly sunk into the bath, sighing and closing her eyes.
Using her horn to dose the lights, Lace Curtain let the mingling steam and candle scents clear her congested nose and lungs. Taking ever deeper breaths, she went over tomorrow’s schedule in her mind and decided that she could cut out a few meeetings and a briefing to sleep in a little to help her body completely recover. Then came an intrusive knock. Frowning but keeping her eyes shut, she levitated a small wooden spoon kept by the door for this very purpose. In rapid Morse Code, she tapped out that she was to be left alone until the next morning. More taps in response only irritated her until she deciphered them.
“Buck.” She sighed, opening her eyes and the door. The lights went up and her maid, Frills, came in bearing a scroll on a silver platter ringed in emeralds. Levitating it over to herself, she read through the summons and accompanying details with a neutral, if disappointed expression before placing it back on the platter.
“Pack my bags Frills.” She ordered, shifting her position a little in her bath to get comfortable. “I’ll be going to Canterlot in the morning and for an undetermined amount of time.”
“Yes Duchess.” Her employee nodded in understanding. “Shall I prepare your traveling kit with some extra medicine?” Lace Curtain hesitated a few moments before nodding.
“That would be wise.” She agreed. With that, her servant left the room and closed the door. Lace Curtain sighed, dosed the lights, and resumed her music in the candle light.
Muscleini loved giving speeches. Especially ones that riled up his audience over issues that hadn’t been in the forefront of their minds when they woke up. Like the one he’d just finished giving to a large crowd in the Bitalian city of Neighpoles about how their farms influenced the production of goods in the other cities in his little corner of the world. The capital of Bitaly, Roam, was surrounded by terrain poorly suited for farming and relied on Neighpoles and a few other towns to remain as independent as possible from Equestria. Thanks to his speech, he was quite confident that he could count on the Neighapolitan farmers keeping their prices down for the next year or so.
Trotting through the halls of the Neighples arena where he’d been speaking, the Prince of Bitaly smiled widely to the ponies standing behind the ropes marking his path out. On either side of him were stallions, mares, and foals cheering, waving, or even swooning over him. Muscleini was one of two eligible bachelors on the Stable of Nobles, the other being Prince Blueblood, and he knew that made him, with his large build, strong muscles, and pristine coat, even more desirable. Waving every so often, he was able to make it to his own Royal Carriage within a few minutes, where a larger crowd had gathered around the three hundred year old, gold plated, silver ornamented, and gem studded creation of some of Bitaly’s greatest designers and metal workers. With one last bow, he stepped inside and settled into a velvet cushion as the carriage began to slowly move forward.
The interior was just as rich and ornate as the exterior, with silk of varying colors intermingling with velvets, cashmere’s, and cotton to create a soft, warm space that held in warm air during the winter and still breathed in the summer. Curtains blocked most of the windows at the moment so the street was out of sight as the Prince returned to his palace in Roam. He didn’t want to look at the architecture anyways. Sitting across from him was an incredibly attractive, aloof, and blunt mare known as Cameriere.
Her soft yellow fur complimented the pale orange mane that fell over her face and tended to block a single, coral eye from view. A unicorn only 23 years old, she was the daughter of the Prince’s last servant, who had held his position for 58 years and had served his father. The location of Cameriere’s cutie mark, a piece of paper with a list on it, had distracted the Prince after he’d entered and had therefore missed what she had said.
“I’m sorry, what was that?” He asked, still looking down. Rolling her eyes, she shifted so that her hindquarters were not in the Prince’s line of sight before speaking again.
“I said, this came for you during your speech.” The mare said slowly, presenting the scroll. Muscleini’s look immediately darkened as his eyes followed hers to the cylindrical object. Levitating it over to him, Cameriere was careful not to react to her employer’s increasingly angry expression and focused on the parchment in case she needed to take it before he ripped it to shreds. Once he had finished, she saw his right eyebrow twitch violently. His tell for annoyance bordering on rage, she knew something was wrong.
“What did the Princess have to say?” She inquired carefully.
“There’s going to be a Stable meeting in two days.” He spat, focusing on the curtains. Nodding in understanding, she pulled a small note pad out of a compartment under her seat and scribbled something in Bitalian. It disappeared in a flash of magic, and the carriage picked up speed.
“I’ll have the palace staff pack your bags and meet us at the train station.” She informed the Prince, who was angrily glaring at the curtains like they had slapped him across the face.
“Very well.” He grumbled tersely. The normally soothing rock of the carriage over the cobblestones of Bitaly did not work their magic and the ride was spent in a tense silence between the two.
Freckleless the Great was the only member of the Stable not leaning towards a specific political ideology. He believed that each situation should be approached without bias and with a clear mind that was beholden to no organization, regardless of its intentions. As such, the stallion was distant, cold, and logical. In many ways, the earth pony stallion was like Twilight Sparkle before she went to Ponyville, but more distant to those he didn’t know. He had a few friend since his personal philosophy meant he had few reservations or stigmas about the ponies he met, so he was more willing to get to know them if he found them interesting.
His friend since he’d been a colt was Stahl Rüstung, the son of his father’s bodyguard and his current one. Stahl, the pegasus preferred his first name, was willing to die for him and what most ponies didn’t know was that the feeling was mutual. Freckleless the Great would often have Stahl and his family for dinner with his own, their foals getting along amiably as did their wives.
The pair were currently in the vassal’s throne room, attending court. Freckleless the Great was also less lavish than his counterparts, using the bits from taxes for practical things that benefitted his country and increased tax revenue. This meant two things; the first being that Germaney was one of the most advanced, healthiest, and most educated places in the world, and second, he was currently sitting on a cushioned chair from his study that dated back three centuries because he didn’t want to buy a new one.
“My liege, it behooves me to ask that you increase funding for the Germane Geneological Society.” An older mare requested, a good three meters from the stallion. “The society works to reconnect the modern Germaney with its great, and fantastic history by allowing ponies to understand their roots and encouraging them to learn about the past.” She stopped when Freckleless the Great beckoned with a wave of his hoof and turned to an aid.
“What is the current budget surplus?” He asked in a gruff, thoughtful voice.
“There are §150,000 available my liege.” The aid answered.
“Very well. Will 2,000 bits be enough?” He was met with a curt nod from the mare and nodded himself. “Then you can count on 2,000 bits more a year. Next petitioner.” An endless process began again, with the previous petitioner leaving the room, happy or sad was irrelevant, and the next one was allowed in by the next, who began with the phrase ‘my liege’. If he hadn’t been given lessons in patience involving a halberd and a pin cushion from his father, Freckless the Great was pretty sure he would have gone mad by this point.
“You must enjoy it when the Genealogical Society uses your family tree in examples.” Stahl remarked with a dry chuckle. Freckleless had been given his name because his father, his father, and his father before him had all had it to tout their pure Germane ancestry. It was a well-known (within the) family secret that their ancestors had regularly married Bitalian, Mosscovite, and even a few Equestrian Nobles.
“It’s a little funny.” He admitted as they waited for the next petitioner to arrive. Instead, they were greeted by a unicorn servant levitating a silver dinner platter with a rolled parchment on it.
“My liege, there is a scroll from the Princess for you.” He said briskly, stopping three meters from the stallion and levitating the platter over.
“Thank you.” Freckleless the Great nodded to the servant as he took the scroll in his hooves and broke the seal. He read the information within calmly and sighed once done.
“Something wrong?” Stahl asked intently. The vassal shook his head and turned the paper so his bodyguard could read it.
“It seems that there will be a Stable of Nobles meeting in two days’ time.” He summarized. Stahl nodded in understanding and motioned to the guards by the door. They stepped outside into the reception area and informed the waiting petitioners that court was closed for the next few days as Freckleless the Great would be taking a trip. There was no collective or singular groan. The ponies simply nodded in understanding and left the castle in an orderly fashion.
Also LikedSimilarAuthor
- RagingCacti · 4.1k words · 34 7 · 1.1k views
- Broniesrponies2 · 15k words · 49 9 · 1.7k views
Stats
Page generated in 0.102 seconds
Total duration
998 users online
2,099,603 hits today, 2,205,040 yesterday
FIMFiction
My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic Fanfiction
Designed and coded by knighty & Xaquseg - © 2011-2024
Follow & Support Us
Support us
SubStar
Chat!
Discord
Follow us
Twitter
MLP: Friendship is Magic® - © 2024 Hasbro Inc.®
Fimfiction is in no way affiliated with or endorsed by Hasbro Inc.®
Got to say I'm loving the European counties and their rulers. Keep up the good work I'm eager to see how the stable reacts the the humans. My guess is that they will be spilt down the middle as too wether or not to let them stay. We shall see
Nooooo is this dead do I need to call the grim reaper?