Chapter 4 – No Jingle Bells Given
There was a hundred ways to approach Hearth’s Warming, Fleur assessed.
For some ponies, it was about those extra non-working days and meeting up with friends who weren’t normally available throughout the year. For others, it was about leaving town with a pair of skis on their back—so that they wouldn’t have to meet up with their insisting acquaintances and finally get some rest. Children played in the snow. Shopkeepers dug out old wreaths and garlands to attract customers. Restaurants pulled out new menus where ‘I’s had dots in shape of snowflakes, and where some of the meals had the words ‘warming’ or ‘winter’ slapped onto them.
Fleur knew one more way. Well, technically she knew two, but the Prench tactic of dismissing Hearth’s Warming didn’t really count. The one she’d learned after she moved to Canterlot was the high society’s way. Participating in fashion shows, fundraisers and dinners which, in the end, were just like regular events with a more or less justified winter theme applied. It wasn’t bad, but the repetitiveness of sleeping until midday, dressing up, visiting a party or two to end up watching the pageant with the Canterlot Elite didn’t feel like the best way of celebrating. But if that wasn’t the right way, then what was?
A weird thought occurred to Fleur. Could it really be that she was an adult mare who had never truly learned what Hearth’s Warming was about? That would be… kind of lame, actually.
They were following the Promenade when Chestnut’s excited voice pulled her out of her reverie.
“Hey, we’re almost there! Next stop: a restaurant with lions! But why lions? Aren’t they scaring off the visitors?”
“I suppose they do look a tad menacing, which only compliments the sculptor,” Fancy Pants agreed. “However, the lion is also considered a symbol of power and royalty. He is often called the king of the jungle, which may not be entirely accurate if we take into account all the magical creatures that could challenge him. Nevertheless, in the animal world he evokes respect. He means business, that is,” he supplemented. “That must be why Chef Garlic decided to put them there, because when it comes to running a restaurant, he is the lion.”
“Chef Garlic Bread,” Chestnut echoed. “He is the owner and chef de quai… de que… chef de cuisine of Acquarellion. I’ve met him during the party and he didn’t mind me being young or a batpony, so he’s okay. He likes all kinds of food, especially things that are small but many, like for a single bite. He saved the restaurant thanks to trying new recipes and adding many exotic dishes to the menu. He’s not the easiest pony to work with when he’s angry,” she recited without stalling. “Just like a lion.”
“Impressive!” Fancy Pants couldn’t hide his astonishment. “Someone’s been doing her homework, I take it?”
“Guilty as an accomplice,” Fleur said. “I simply wanted to outfit her with all the important facts before she goes in. I know it’s about cooking, but no meeting is normal when there’s someone from the Elite involved.”
“Also, mom thinks he has a nice beard, but he’s not married, but mom thinks he has a special somepony,” Chestnut added casually.
“All the important facts indeed,” Fancy Pants chuckled—but his hoof went to his clean-shaved chin still.
“Indeed,” Fleur admitted without shame. “So, how about we go over the plan again? We’re delivering Chestnut to Acquarellion where we split up. You stay with Garlic, you go to work—for the record, I still don’t understand why, and on Hearth’s Warming Eve no less!—while I head to Valenmane Estate… only on the other end of town,” she sighed.
Chestnut nodded. “Fine by me!”
“You know that as a senior ambassador I need to be there when the Houndrel Federation is formally established,” Fancy Pants said. “Personally, I find it quite poetic. We are celebrating the founding of Equestria while Diamond Dogs and their allied tribes start their own nation. It’s a momentous occasion for everyone involved!” he added. “Remind me, we’re scheduled at Rarity’s at three, correct?”
“Oui, if her train from Trottingham arrives as planned. I don’t suppose you’ll be able to pick Chestnut up?” When the stallion shook his head, Fleur turned to the filly. “Then the plan is for you to wait for me. You can never really tell how long an auction like that will take, but in the worst-case scenario I’ll just excuse myself earlier. You just stay here. Sounds good?”
“Not… really, I guess? I was thinking I could go straight to the boutique when I’m done.”
“Alone? Out of the question.”
“But mom, you said it yourself you don’t know how long it will take,” Chestnut protested. “I mean, if you can finish earlier and be back then it works, but what if you’ll be running late? I don’t want to be a trouble for Mister Garlic when we’re done.” Flying up, she looked over the crowd. “And it’s not even that far. I can see both the restaurant and”—she squinted her eyes—“almost see the boutique from here. It’s on Emerald Street, right? Is that Emerald Street? I think it is because the snow is green.”
“Still a terrible idea. Help me out, husband.”
“It’s not like she’ll be crossing a desert, dear,” Fancy Pants said gently. “It’s a five-minute walk tops, the streets are bright and cozy…”
Betrayal. Betrayal at its finest. Did he not comprehend the gravity of the situation? Stallions, bah!
“B-but what about that frostbite?” Fleur pointed out. “Haven’t you read the weather bulletin? There’s a frostbite coming in the afternoon. And may I remind you that a frostbite is the strongest form of concentrated snowfall applicable to cities like Canterlot. The bulletin said so! She’ll freeze, poor thing. Look, she’s shaking already!” Fleur said, wrapping herself around the filly who was most certainly not shaking.
“Yeah, but I have this to keep me warm.” Chestnut nuzzled her orange scarf. “I’m pretty sure that if I put it on our snowpony, its head would melt. That’s how warm it is. Actually, I have to ask Miss Rarity what material it is, because it feels better than a normal scarf would.”
The stallion nodded. “I believe it’s called silversilk. It’s from Saddle Arabia.”
“Don’t change the subject, you two! Come on, I’ll show you.” Determined to make a point, Fleur waded through the crowd. “You’re not telling me it’s a short walk when it isn’t. Just look,” she said at the corner of the Promenade and Emerald Street—which indeed had its snow and all decorations tinted green for some reason. “You have Acquarellion over there, and the boutique is as far”—she stopped, surprised—“Huh, it’s actually way closer than I thought. Was it always like that?”
“That’s what we’ve been trying to tell you.” Fancy Pants moved behind Chestnut and put his hoof on her shoulder. “The final decision is yours, dear, but I think you’ll agree that our Chestnut is a responsible, young mare, so if she says she can make those, oh, four hundred yards on her own, then I, for one, trust her.”
Fleur was this close to rolling her eyes, but there was something about her husband’s words that tipped her off. The persistent, focused way he was looking at her over their daughter’s back... he was giving her signals! It was like he was telling her to ease her concerns. She knew she had them, probably like every freshly made mother. She’d gained that attitude less than a month ago when Chestnut was lost on the very same Promenade they were walking right now. Of course she’d been informed by Doctor Sunlit Hugs that Chestnut needed encouragement more than she needed protection, especially considering the life changes she was going through, and that the best encouragement would come from trusting her in small things.
“Très bien,” she finally said. “When you’re done and I’m not around, you go straight to the boutique. But”—she raised her hoof—“you don’t talk to anyone, you don’t touch anything, and for all that is Hearth-Warmingy, you don’t try to help anyone. If someone drops a necklace, then it’s their problem. For five minutes, be selfish. Or better yet, be stealthy! Don’t let anyone see you.”
“Deal!” Chestnut bumped Fleur’s raised hoof, a gesture which never failed to amuse the mare. “But I think what you meant was to not let anyone notice me, mom. It’s kind of hard not to be seen on a big street like that. But not noticed? No problem when you’re a batpony.”
Fleur threw the stallion a stare. “She really has been doing her homework, hasn’t she?” she deadpanned.
“Guilty as an accomplice.”
A while later they had left Chestnut in Garlic Bread’s care, who was delighted to take her into the culinary world of high society dining. The chef was a respected fellow and their good acquaintance, but Fleur, while smiling charmingly and exuding confidence, couldn’t shake off the feeling that something irregular was going to happen. Not necessarily bad or dangerous, just some weird event in which Chestnut would be playing the central role.
She just had that hunch.
“Am I being overprotective?” she asked herself as much as her husband. “Because I can’t fight it, I literally can’t. All I can see is her getting into something and ending up alone and scared.”
“Frankly, I don’t think it’s Chestnut that you’re worrying about. I think you’re mostly worried that if she gets into trouble, you won’t be there to assist her,” Fancy Pants proposed. “But we can’t treat her like a helpless foal, you know. I doubt anything has changed over the last, oh, thirty years in that matter, so ponies her age tend to be quite touchy when those never-understanding adults think of them as of little kids. If they do, those kids will rebel at some point. And I don’t think our house could withstand a rebelling Chestnut.”
“I see you’ve been reading the books. Good for you.” Fleur glanced back, just in case there was a filly in tears running to her. “But you weren’t there. You weren’t in that alleyway when she was hiding in a trash can.”
“From what you’ve told me she was taking it quite well,” Fancy Pants replied. “She wasn’t crying, or distressed, and then she was comfortable talking about it like it was the greatest adventure she’d been through. She straight told you she ran not out of fear, but to keep your meeting with Rarity undisturbed, correct?”
“Oui.”
“Now consider this: was she, at any point, in any actual danger? Food for thought. She is found by the Royal Guard, who are obligated, by law, to seek out her parents or legal guardians—which would be an interesting case because you probably wouldn’t be able to bail her out—so she gets escorted back to Orphanarium safe and sound.”
“Why, I’m sure it would have impressed Doctor Hugs with our parenting skills,” she quipped. “I’m sorry. You may be right. I just... I don’t feel comfortable leaving her out of my sight like that.”
“If it’s that difficult for you, why did you let her accept Garlic’s invitation in the first place?”
“You know why I did it,” Fleur replied on a subtler note. “Do you remember what the doctor told us about her biological parents? Considering what kind of ponies they were and what they got themselves involved in, I figured out that baking chestnuts was one of the few ‘normal’ childhood memories she has, so to speak. Plus it’s her talent she can’t even practice on a daily basis, so I couldn’t deny her that opportunity,” she said with a mixture of embarrassment and concern on her face. “But I’m still worried. Maybe I’m overreacting.”
They reached the end of the Promenade, or its beginning depending on whom you asked. Right before them was the Aphelion Gate, a massive ivory arch and the main entrance to the Canterlot Castle grounds. A little to the right stood an unimpressive building that was the heart of Equestrian diplomacy. Fleur had once asked Fancy Pants if he was content with walking the entire Promenade to get there, to which he said he would always welcome a chance for a brisk trot while working a desk job.
“Overreacting is what parents do best, I suppose,” Fancy Pants said. “But Chestnut strikes me as someone who has more ‘street smarts’ than you and I combined. She’ll get there without hassle, you’ll see. And, correct me if I’m wrong, but when you were her age, weren’t you already travelling all around Prance, assisting with shows and learning the trade? Just imagine what your parents had to go through!”
“Hardly. They were fine with anything as long as I kept myself to Prench soil,” she replied blankly. “Alright—I’m fine with her walking, how much did you say it was, four hundred yards? I’m fine with that. There’s no reason to blow it out of proportion.”
She didn’t sound very convincing in her own mind, but repeating definitely helped.
“Ears up, dear,” Fancy Pants said at the embassy’s doors. “Golden Gavel could probably use a brave mare who will expedite the expenses during the auction, and who knows? Maybe you will even find something interesting for yourself. A fun little Hearth’s Warming gift!”
“Decide. Either I’m going there to help with the bidding, or to have fun. I can’t do both.”
“Why is that?”
“On my own? I’ll have to pay for everything myself.” Fleur grinned disarmingly. “Where’s fun in that?”
* * *
“Yak think auction wasn’t the best idea,” a hulking, hair-covered mass of muscle said. “At this rate, yak will never rebuild school.”
Golden Gavel meant money—his coat had the color of an Equestrian bit that had been in circulation for too long, whereas his pale mane resembled a freshly minted one. He was Canterlot’s prime auctioneer and as such he had to make sure everything was going smoothly. From showcasing items put up for sale and watching over the proper bidding etiquette, up to convincing ponies their investment was going to be a well-made one, it was a demanding work on all fronts.
Especially when the thousand-pound front on your side you were backing up was prone to aggression and smashing things at the first sign of trouble.
“May I remind you, Headmaster Ostwald, that the actual auctions hasn’t even begun,” Golden Gavel politely replied. “Right now, the participants are meant to familiarize themselves with the items I’ve put on display, so that when the auction starts in just a couple of minutes, they will already have an idea of what they want to acquire. We’re celebrating the founding of our country right now, the ponies are in a joyful, not to mention charitable mood, so there is nothing to worry about. Or, to get upset about,” he added preventively.
“Yak trust to not be disappointed at the end of the day.”
“Yak won’t be disappointed. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve spotted a pony of importance I need to speak with.”
The stallion hurried across the grand dining room to the only mare who could save his skin.
“Fleur! Oh, Fleur de Lis, thank the stars in the sky for sending you here,” he moaned. “You have to help me.”
“And… good morning to you, Golden Gavel,” she replied cautiously. “What’s going on? And why is it so numb in here?”
“I don’t know—I mean, I do know. Gah, I knew it had been a terrible idea to organize the auction today. It seems like everypony has already spent their entire month’s salary, their holiday bonuses, and their hidden nest eggs. Piggy banks are broken, pockets are empty, socks have holes in them, whoever I talk to tells me they’ll be”—a pair of elegant mares passed by them—“Welcome, please, do come in! We’ll be starting in just a couple of minutes!” The moment they were gone, his mask fell. “That they’ll be playing it safe today. And you can’t have a successful auction when everyone’s holding to their bits,” he hissed.
“I understand, but what do you expect me to do?” Fleur said quietly. “You know that my usual plays work only in tandem with Fancy Pants. You know, the tried and trusted show of how much he is willing to spend on his wife’s desires so that other mares get jealous and other stallions have to step up their game, that sort of things. I’m hardly a solo player.”
“Yes, certainly, but there must be something you can do. Please! Those yaks lost their school in a fire!” He took a few aimless steps back, forth, and around the mare. “I know! Perhaps you could use your newfound status of a mother to your advantage and inspire others with a few well-placed words that, quoting Honey Whitestone, children are our future?”
“A good play, but not convincing enough as of today.” She invited him to take a stroll when some grey unicorn approached the display of Yakyakistanian woodwork near them. “Everypony I could perhaps convince on my own knows that I’ve been a mother for three weeks, so I’m hardly credible. And others?” She gently turned him around the room. “Those are a lot of new faces I see here, Gavel, who don’t necessarily know me, so unless you have a stack of last year’s Fervid lingerie special laying around…”
“A stack? I couldn’t even get my hooves on one,” he confessed. “Just do what you can, Fleur, please. I’m counting on you. Yaks are counting on you. Yak children are counting on you!”
“Alright, I get it! Everyone is counting on me,” she replied, wondering why those near world-changing events kept happening when there was no Fancy Pants around. She never subscribed to that ‘strong, independent mare’ mythos that was being forced nowadays, and she believed in a healthy relationships she had she didn’t have to. Having her husband around would make it easier, but it didn’t mean she was helpless on her own. “Let me walk around and… think of something.”
Fleur went to do some mingling, and to analyze the balance of power.
The event was held in Valenmane Estate, an impressive property of Lady Upper Hoof. A cunning, middle-aged mare, she was a fountain of philosophical tidbits, or her Rules of Success as she called them. Rule of Success No. 11: Always know who’s the most important pony in the room, or Fleur’s favorite Rule of Success No. 16: There’s always a better dress you can wear. Lady Upper Hoof prided herself in following those aphorisms to the letter, even after she quit the Canterlot Elite squabbles a couple of years ago.
She left the success of her family to her children, Victory Sash and Laurel Wreath—whose names Fleur only knew because there was a pair of masterfully done paintings in the mansion’s foyer, where she happened to casually drop some ‘well-placed words’ about how supporting younger generations mattered. But it was too little to wake anyone up. The mood was exactly as Golden Gavel described: conservative and cautious, with a tinge of belittlement towards the yak hooficraft.
She was walking down the hallway when some force pulled her into a room.
When she realized who that force was, several alerts—some installed quite recently—resounded in her head.
“Hello, Fleur,” Upper Crust said. “Merry Hearth’s Warming.”
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! 
---
I’m looking out the window and see that the last week’s snow is gone. No matter - December still reigns as far as I’m concerned, and Fleur has just headed into an auction. The jingle of coin will be heard, so it felt fitting to listen to some Jingle Bells Rock!
Plus she met Upper Crust. Oh dear.
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I hope Fleur will put Upper Crust in her place. That mare is nothing but trouble.
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Nothing like a cliffhanger, eh? You probably won’t have to wait too long for the next chapter, so stay tuned!
I would really like to see Fleur play sister Bertha better than you like a cheap fiddle. The Upper Crust school for disadvantaged Yaks has a nice ring to it.
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Is that a trope or a reference to something? Because I’m not getting it, sorry.
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When shit hits the fan, the results are all over the place. I can confirm that a conflict between our two ponies will, eventually, be all over the place as well.
Shamefully I must admit I’d forgotten how much I enjoyed this little family. Very much looking forward to how Fleur deals with that insipid cow.
And we have found the one Pony who would give up a kidney to win a bidding war over Fleur. Here comes Lady Buckethead!
Quite a train ride, seeing as Trottingham is over on the Griffish Isles. Not quite a trip to Griffonstone, but it is a little wetter...
Time to play Lady Bucket Head for all the bits!
Ohoho. No Fancy to play off of? Then how about a blind, maddened rival? With two of the upper echelon in a bidding war, blood should start pumping and coinpurses loosening!
Lady Bucket Head’s gonna regret it.
oooh dis gonna be good
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Yo Bleddyn, glad to have you here! You can always count on them to be here in those couple of stories. It’s not much, but I hope it’s enough to brighten someone’s day every once in a while!
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She indeed hates losing and tries to end up beaten as rarely as possible. Unless this is all part of a plan...
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A fashionista is never late, nor is she early. She arrives precisely when she means to (i.e. when the plot demands).
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I would be impressed if Crust planned this as it would imply influencing every Pony there not to spend hoping that Fleur would show up and then thinking their mutual animosity would allow her to play her without Fleur realizing they were both aiming to do the other in financially. Or I suppose she could just see through the ruse and try to lead her on, but where’s the fun in that?
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Hopefully! Because as of right now, it seems that most of the ponies have come to Valenmane Estate just for the sake of free foodstuffs and company, not to genuinely care about poor yaks!
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I hugely appreciate people remembering that nickname. I think I’m not using it anywhere in this story, so kudos for bringing it back!
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*cue that dis gonna be gut gif*
I would paste it myself but it’s a pain on mobile. :P
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media.giphy.com/media/ygqMjv2x8KSxW/giphy.gif m.popkey.co/15c476/XmDEG.gif
here are two for you.
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Exactly, thanks fo having my back!
Ah, Lady Buckethead, we meet again.
That is so true.
8825998
Good, that means nothing have changed since I was a rebelling kid. ;)
Wait, yaks have schools? That burn down? Can't they just use a cave or a snow fort or something?
This time it worked out for me, even if Fleur being the one in the wrong or worrying over silly things all the time instead of fancy pants too, is leaving a bad aftertase.
I'm curious what the bucket think she is able to do this time.