Chapter 3 – We Wish You a Merry Hearth's Warming
After a cup of warming, eleven o’clock tea—and a formal assurance that they would indeed find their way to Hyacinth’s New Year’s Eve party—the family headed out to the city.
“Honestly, it was pretty much mom’s idea.” Chestnut bounced before Fleur and Fancy Pants, up and over a properly shoveled mound of snow. “I sneaked out behind the snowpony when you weren’t looking, flew around the house and quieeetly landed on the roof. I waited for her signal and, well, you know the rest. Operation Snowfall worked—no, wait, I’ve got better: Operation Avalanche worked!” She stopped in her tracks. “That’s how you say it, right? Ava-lunch? Or is it ava-lanshee?”
“Avalanche,” Fancy Pants said. “I have to admit, I was expecting a bombardment from the front, but I didn’t consider a sneak attack. Not of such magnitude, at least.” He threw his wife a guessing look. “I’m pretty sure mom got the idea from history lessons. Prench-Istallian border conflict, am I correct?”
“Oui, that’s right.” Fleur nodded. “June 25th, year 940 to be exact. Prench General Morning Star leads a pegasi squadron at high altitudes. Their mission is to cause an avalanche at the so grandiosely called Le Brise-ciel, which means roughly ‘the skybreaker’. They are successful, and ultimately stop the advance of the Istallian mountaineer contingent sent to occupy the lowlands,” she recounted with encyclopedic accuracy. “What? You didn’t think I was just the looks, did you?” she said to the filly.
“No, I mean—whoa, you must really liked history at school.”
“Not in particular,” Fleur replied. “My father, and your grandfather is a retired general. He used to read me battle reports as bedtime stories,” she added sourly.
Chestnut’s yellow eyes grew wide. “I have a grandfather too? That’s so cool!”
“And a grandmother,” Fancy Pants added, leaning to Fleur. “Who still haven’t heard the big news, by the way. And I still think sending a letter is a perfectly serviceable idea.”
“Non. It’s better to visit them, or better yet, have them visit us because it’s their turn now. It’s just with all that’s been happening and now Hearth’s Warming I didn’t have time to arrange anything. But it’s high on the list,” she assured. “Besides, a letter would only cause unnecessary confusion. They don’t exactly have a history of being supportive of my decisions, if you know what I mean.”
“Well, they did let you move to Canterlot eventually, didn’t they?”
“Is it about me?” Chestnut asked, rubbing the back of her head. “A-are they like Mrs. Upper Crust? You know, do they think batponies are…?”
“Don’t worry, it’s nothing of sorts!” Fleur said. “It’s only that they aren’t really fond of surprises, that’s all. Normally, learning that one is about to become a grandparent takes several months, so if I were to drop the news casually, in a letter, they would most certainly read that as disrespectful and misinterpret our unique situation. Prench ponies are quick to take offense, so that’s that.”
She made a mental note to check on the current relations between Tramplevania and Prance, or if there had ever been any tension between them. Those two countries didn’t share borders, but one could never be sure with cranky ex-generals.
“Makes sense, I think. I just want to make a good first impression,” Chestnut replied. “What about your mom and dad, dad? Are they Equestrian?”
“Born and raised in Trottingham much like myself, but I assure you they aren’t half as interesting as Fleur’s family,” Fancy Pants chuckled, to which the mare rolled her eyes. “My father’s a teacher and my mother’s a nurse. They are two excellent ponies living a quiet, simple life, and they are mostly up to date with how our, ah, unique situation develops. I’m certain they’ll be excited to meet you when opportunity arises”—he cleared his throat—“and once I tell them, that is.”
“Ha! The pot calling the kettle black!” Fleur giggled. “You haven’t told yours, either!”
The stallion shrugged. “I am merely looking for the right words.”
He levitated a small box into Chestnut’s hooves.
“Anyway, we’re here, and here’s the present. Just remember: don’t get discouraged with Mister Inkblot’s antics. In this context it means his eccentric, unusual behavior,” he supplemented. “I vaguely recall there was something with him and receiving gifts on Hearth’s Warming, but I can’t really put my hoof on it,” he added. “Well, I’m sure it’s nothing of precedence.”
A brass bell announced their arrival at Inks & Seats, an unimpressive store tucked at the side of the Gibbous Moon Plaza. Fleur had only been here a couple of times in her life as shopping for inks and seats was exclusively her husband’s domain, yet the interiors looked exactly as she remembered. Despite the impressive collection of colorful bottles and a line-up of sofas, she found the room dark and not as cozy as most establishments. Soon she realized why—the seasonal cheer that was visible in the streets, especially on other shops’ displays they passed by, was completely absent throughout the store. There wasn’t a single piece of decoration, no mistletoe, not even a tree chain on the big aquarium.
Behind the counter was an old unicorn. The scar over her eye was almost indistinguishable from the wrinkles marking her face. She was reading a book on the topic of magic, judging by the cover. She must have been Mister Inkblot’s wife… a teacher, if Fleur remembered correctly? She was a teacher, alright. Only teachers had such a disheartening, over-the-glasses glare when someone was approaching them.
“Good morning, ma’am,” Chestnut greeted her. “Is Mister Inkblot here? I’ve got something for him.”
“You bet he is!” the mare croaked. “Gramps! You have visitors!”
“Visitors?” came a tired shout somewhere from between muffled hoofsteps. “For the last time, we don’t get visitors, we get customers. This is a store, not a museum!”
She cracked a cynical grin. “If it’s not a museum, then explain those two fossils we’re housing upstairs!” she quipped. “Oh, stop playing smart and just come down here. It’s that handsome gentlecolt and his family, and I don’t think they’re here to buy anything. So they’re definitely visitors! Ha!”
“I swear, one of these days—ah, Fancy Pants!” Mister Inkblot, a beardless stallion with thick glasses exclaimed. “Madam Fleur, always a pleasure to see a beautiful mare. For a change!” he said explicitly over his wife’s ear, but she’d already returned to her lecture and apparently didn’t care. He waved at her, mumbling incomprehensibly. “And… Lady Chestnut, how interesting. I suppose congratulations are in order. Be wary, Madame Fleur—now that he’s a father, he will grow fat. And old, like me.”
“Age and oldness are two separate things, and ponies like you continue to prove that,” Fancy Pants deftly replied. “Though I’m afraid Mrs. Inkwell was right about the nature of our intrusion. Chestnut?”
The filly leaned against the counter.
“Mister Inkblot, I was practicing writing with a pen the other day,” she began. “My mother was decorating the tree, and she accidentally put one of the baubles on the table, where it rolled over the still fresh ink. From your shop, that is, uh, the orange one, I don’t know if you remember?”
Mister Inkblot had a look of a pony who remembered every single vial he’d ever sold.
“Anyway, I thought that because Hearth’s Warming was coming, I’d make something just for you”—Chestnut put the box on the counter—“something which you can put on your own tree or use as a decoration here.” She looked around much like Fleur when she’d noticed the lack of holiday spirit. “But I see no decorations here which makes me think that it perhaps… wasn’t the best idea for a present… I guess?” she added unsurely, red on her cheeks. “Oh, you probably don’t like decorations! I didn’t think of that! Sorry!” she squeaked.
After meeting his wife’s glare, Mister Inkblot hobbled to the filly.
“Young fillies like you should apologize only when they’ve done something bad. Not when they were trying to do something good. From what I can see—and trust me, it’s not easy without my glasses—you were aiming for good to the best of your knowledge,” he said. “But you won’t find any decorations here because I don’t celebrate Hearth’s Warming.”
Chestnut gave an embarrassed chuckle. “Yeah… that I kinda put together. But why? Everybody in Equestria does it! It’s a—wait, I know that one: it’s our national holiday!”
Mister Inkblot took out a slice of cheesecake from under the counter. Murmuring, he beckoned at Chestnut to accompany him to the aquarium and his fat pufferfish. Fleur followed them as well. Through the prism of her own youth, she found ponies who willingly passed on celebrating Hearth’s Warming rather odd.
“Do you know the story of how Hearth’s Warming came to be? About the three tribes and the founding of Equestria?” he asked, to which the filly confidently nodded. “Good, now forget about it. You’re mostly smart, so understand that not every Canterlotian living here today traces his or her lineage to those tribes. My ancestors didn’t have to face winters, windigos, or that whole internal discussion club because they couldn’t solve some anatomical squabble!” he coughed out with more zealotry than he’d likely intended. “Instead, they were up against… help me out, ambassador. What’s the political word of the day?”
“Houndrels. Mister Inkblot, I apologize. I should have remembered…”
Mister Inkblot grated the cheesecake and tossed the bites into the water. He offered Chestnut to join him, much to the fish’s content.
“Houndrels. A fitting name, no doubt,” he said. “A long time ago, there lived a pack of houndrels who called themselves Nephrite Jackals. Think Diamond Dogs from Ponyville, only smart, cruel, and ten times as ferocious instead, also living in the desert of all places. Their favorite pastime was kidnapping earth ponies—because they were the sturdiest—and forcing them to work, build temples and pyramids for their Pharaoh, who was their king and spiritual leader. Do you know what a pyramid is?”
Chestnut joined her hooves. “Yes, like those big stone triangles that aren’t really triangles because they have more sides if you look around them?”
The stallion made a sour face, but his wife chuckled. “She’s not wrong, you know!”
“Oh, shut it,” Mister Inkblot responded. “Centuries passed. The Jackals created a formidable empire at the expense of ponies, who had no choice but to accept their fate. Generation after generation was born into servitude under their masters. Earth ponies, pegasi, unicorns, all of them, be that as builders or farmers, because those damn houndrels were too lazy to do anything themselves.”
“But if there were pegasi among them, couldn’t at least they fly away?”
“Hold up your wing, please”—when she did, he slid his hoof along the joints connecting the wing to the filly’s back—“and you’ll understand the precautions the Jackals took to keep my ancestors from ever revolting against them. I’m sure you can imagine something adequate too, Madam Fleur.”
“Ouch.” Fleur immediately touched her horn to make sure it was there in one piece.
“Indeed. One unicorn was fortuitously spared, but whether it was an oversight on the Jackals’ part, a touch of destiny or just dumb luck, it’s impossible to tell. Stone Tablet was raised in secret, and he used his magic to look into the future that was to come. He gave my ancestors the strongest weapon to outlive their captors: hope.”
Another piece of cheesecake sank in the aquarium.
“He had a vision of a great flame in the shape of a pink heart that melted the ice and revealed a lush, green land far to the west so unlike the desert the ponies knew. When the time came, the ponies fled the empire with the help of Stone Tablet’s magic, who then guided them across the desert. After years of tyranny, we were free,” he said with a satisfied smile.
Fancy Pants nodded. “The land they sought turned out to be Equestria, where the tribes had already settled.”
“There were some who weren’t happy about it, but they were idiots,” Mister Inkblot replied. “When you really think about it, nothing in Stone Tablet’s visions promised the land exclusively for us, or that we won’t ever have neighbors. Of course some of us still like to think those were us who shared with the three tribes, not the other way around. It makes us feel better about ourselves. Or something.”
“And look how excellent hosts you’ve been so far,” Mrs. Inkwell added from her corner. “Your idea to not work on Saturdays remains to be your greatest contribution!”
“What happened with the Jackals?” Chestnut asked.
“What do you think happened? Their blasted empire collapsed like a house of cards, that’s what happened!” Mister Inkblot gloated, straining his voice to its limits. “With no one to care for crops, fix their houses or maintain their pyramids, they soon blamed the Pharaoh, fought among themselves, and ultimately scattered across the desert to live a miserable existence until the last of their days. Ha! Never mess with the ponies!” He threw the remaining crumbs into the aquarium. “That, Miss Chestnut, is why I don’t celebrate Hearth’s Warming. I have different holidays to remember, like my ancestors’ great exodus or their arrival. But they are rather quiet, and don’t need flashy decorations like yours Hearth’s Warming.”
In a way, it helped Fleur reconsider her reservations. If there were ponies in Equestria who didn’t celebrate Hearth’s Warming, her family back in Prance couldn’t be counted as social deviants themselves. She’d been a bit of a hypocrite on that matter, in fact, because she hadn’t been Equestrian all her life either.
The Prench were a different culture, and she couldn’t blame them for not decorating the tree, not inviting the entire family for a festive dinner, or not singing carols—ah, but at the same time, she so wanted to one day sing carols on the streets just for the sake of it, not because there was a fundraiser or something! She’d been denied it because it was not proper behavior in Pearis, and now she was probably too old for that. C’est la vie!
Perhaps she should be shopping for inks and seats more often.
“This is fair,” Chestnut said. “I think it’s really cool that you have different things to remember on different occasions. I think that ponies who celebrate Hearth’s Warming and those who don’t can learn a lot from each other. I surely did by listening to your story, so, big thanksies for that!” she said cheerfully. “I totally understand that you don’t want decorations in your store, and that’s okay. If you won’t use it, perhaps the ma’am can? Either way, I hope you’ll like it,” she added casually, like the fact that her gift was kind of being rejected didn’t affect her at all.
“That’s very thoughtful of you, young filly,” Mrs. Inkwell, who had allowed herself to unpack the present, said. “But I’m sure my husband will find a suitable spot for it here.”
“And why would I do that? I just told you that I don’t need no decorations,” he grumbled.
“Oh, shut it, you old geezer, and read what it says on the thing!”
Mister Inkblot muttered something about needing his glasses first. He searched high and low, on the counter, the shelves, across the sofa section, until his wife loudly cleared her throat. Only then did he realize his glasses were on his face all along. He picked the blue-orange bauble, and read the words that were written in a familiar, orange ink from his shop.
When he did, he had to sit down.
hearth's warming 1206
thank you mister inkblot
your inks work even on glass
and that's kinda cool
On the other side, there was a caricature of an old pony handing a vial of ink to someone vaguely resembling a thestral.
Mrs. Inkwell gave the stallion a light punch. “Well, don’t just stare like that, gramps. Show some gratitude.”
Due to his age, the stallion’s eyes were perhaps too dry to even produce an actual tear, but he couldn’t hide the emotions surging through him.
“Every store’s owner who celebrates Hearth’s Warming wishes for customers with deep pockets. My wish would be to have visitors like you more often. Because you”—his trembling hoof was barely holding the level—“You are something different. The world needs more ponies like you. Like all of you,” he added, nodding at Fleur and Fancy Pants. “You shape better tomorrow for us all, even the cranky and cynical ones who have enough winters on their back to not be bothered about anything. But every now and then on days like these, things make me actually care, and for that I am grateful. For that, I thank you. Thank you…”
“Is it... okay for us to wish you merry Hearth’s Warming, then?” Chestnut asked timidly.
“Damn right it is,” the old stallion sniffed.
Hello there! Thank you for reading my story. I am no longer writing pony fiction, but if you want to support my current creative endeavor, check out my content on Twitch! 
---
“Of course it is,” Fleur added. “And what better way to do so than through a song?” - is what she would say if I was writing a musical. Poor girl just really wants to sing carols, like Celtic Woman in their interpretation of We Wish You a Merry Christmas which inspired this chapter!
Also, thank you for your amazing support on the story’s lauch - we actually hit the feature box and stayed there for a couple of hours, which is always nice. Stay tuned for the next chapter coming in a couple of days!
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So apparently, we have a pony equivalent of Moses now. Also, if Jewish analogues did exist, I wonder how they would celebrate Passover?
8809268
Hey Hebi. :)
My shekels are on a traditional supper and retelling the story of their liberation - feels plausible. For the next couple of days, they likely commemorate milestones/trials of their journey, because their trip through the desert must have had some adventures involved. Perhaps something with the jinn? I always liked the idea of jinn being connected to the sands. I imagine that pondering over those milestones is meant to “purify” their character and spirit, as in “what’s past is in the past now, we leave our pain and anger behind, and head out into the brighter future”.
Like Mister Inkblot said, it’s not as flashy and commercialized as Hearth’s Warming.
8809323 That makes sense and it’s nice to encounter ponies that aren’t Equestrian or don’t celebrate Equestrian holidays.
So Mr Inkblot is a Haybrew?
1206?
It’s March. That is all.
8809405
I kinda want to both hive five you and slap you for that.
8810106
it was a pretty bad pun so how about a face high five
8810233
I’ll take it!
So, Prance is France and is not part of Equestrian culture, Inkblots is a Haybrew as Grahf put it, I'm guessing Trampsylvania is based on Romania/Transylvania/Wallachia? I wonder what their opinion is of vamponies ... and what local holidays they have that Nutsie and family can discover ...
8809347
Glad you think so. The original story, in addition to being a tale about family matters and fighting the prejudice one may have, was also a "social commentary" sort of thing (for me at least). Showing another side of Hearth's Warming felt fitting in that regard.
8809405
AAAH what a wonderful pun! How did I miss it?
On a behind-the-scenes note, I was wondering if/how I should name Mister Inkblot's group. The first thing I came up with was "exodites", but then I discovered it was a Warhammer 40k thing. So I decided not to use any specific name. Your idea is certainly worth remembering!
8809693
Hey Night Frost, thanks for commenting! 1206 is the current year in this story, counted from the founding of Equestria by the tribes (with the year 1200 being the moment Luna returns in S1). It's an arbitrary choice I made to help myself when putting numerous fics on the timeline.
8810373
Thanks I always liked your Chestnut stories
8809962
Nope, I’m preeety sure it’s December! But you are free to say otherwise, Magnus - your avatar is just too cute!
8810130
Haha, thank you for saying that!
And allow me to let you know I’ve dropped by to read your story - if surrealism was what you aimed for then surrealism was what I got from it.
8810313
Yup, Tramplevania is definitely a pun based on Transylvania - but that’s pretty much all I have, that and the fact that there was at least one family who had a garden full of chestnut-bearing trees. I’ve never been to Romania, so should the need arise for writing more thestral stuff, I will be sure to do my research and come up with some interesting occasions / festivals.
8811035
Fleur and Fancy Pants are good at many things. Informing their parents about latest developments is not one of them. ;)
8811076
So it seems. I'm sure they're going to get an earful when their parents find out.
“Briseur-ciel” is incorrect. It would be “Brise-ciel”. Think about “le transperceneige” which translates in “the snowpiercer”.
I'm so excited to see the elders reaction in seeing Chestnut and fall in love with her.
8811177
If that was the case, they really brought the two closer with the 2nd Kevin movie - at least according to this video you just reminded me of.
8811129
I am willing to trust you on this one, but I don’t quite understand the logic behind it. I thought that briseur was a serviceable word to describe an entity which breaks something i.e. a breaker. Why does brise on its own works? Wouldn’t brise-ciel mean more like “broken sky” as opposed to what I’m after?
8811201
Hey Grekoy, glad you joined the party! Should any grandparent-level shenanigans occur (heads-up: not in this story) , I think I will focus on Fleur’s part of the family because I’ve already put some thought into their names and characters.
Would they fall for Chestnut from the first sight? I don’t think so, and it would made it a little too easy for the ponies involved. Conversely, writing them as cold and distant only to learn to accept her by the end would be a bit of a cliche (and, admittedly, I already used that one with Fleur in the original story). Gotta think of something special, then.
8811251
First: broken sky -> ciel brisé (plain past participle as adjective, you can translate word to word).
Second: you are partly right because the distinction exists in French but not in English.
Notice that all words that end in -eur are used to describe professions. Of course what you’re looking for is not this. One who does their job is intending to produce some kind of consequence. Whereas we’re looking forward to describe something that does not act but is.
It’s not as if the mountain intend to be that tall.
Another example: gratte-ciel <-> skyscraper </> gratteur de ciel
8811282
Ah yes, I see my error now. Thank you for being so patient in explaining that one to me. I hope that among fixing my imperfect French you will find time to enjoy the story itself. Also, the next mountain I’ll be naming I’ll call Laeri Peak!
8811324
You’re very welcome.
I never had a mountain named after me, isn’t it a bit excessive?
8811390
It’s a win-win, really. You get the mountain, and I get the right of saying that the name is a proper noun so I can’t be mistaken about the spelling.
8811405
I write it “Læri” when possible.
Just teasing.
Even though it’s the spelling that came to my mind when I created it (not very sure about where it comes from).
8810934
Raises hoof
Uh...
Lowers hoof
8813448
At first I thought it was Fleur and Chestnut playing, and the pirates and the "ship" were just them on the porch, watching some staff clean away snow and ice from the path leading to the gate.
You just never gave any indications of it being a dream aside from the slight surrealism
8813829
That's clever! It never occurred to me that it could be interpreted as a play, nice one.
8814393
It just seemed the most logical conclusion, given that it felt both "Unreal" and "Real" 
Thank you
8814581
As a dream should. :)
Interesting adaptation of the Exodus story to Equestria.
8814890
Hey djthomp, glad you liked it. I only hope I utilized it with proper respect and have not alienated anyone who may have personal attachment to the source material.
Speaking as someone who doesn't celebrate Christmas either, I appreciate the ponified Passover you put here, even if I'm confused about it being in winter.
Stone Tablet's connection to hope and a version of Egypt makes me think of Somnambula who might well have come from that location.
Aw damn, this made me tear up. I am in love with this universe you created!
9575298
Thanks! There’s definitely a bunch of world-building surprises along the way for you, in those or other stories. :)