Full Lance & The Holy Roman Empire

by Merallakos

Middle in the Beginning

Beyond a curtain of majestic pines and yellowing beeches, murky rays of twilight traced out four small buildings and a large manor home. They were set in a geographic oddity, a perfectly circular hollow on the side of an otherwise nominal hilly rise.

A few ponies trod along a circling path towards the stone built manor home. A pair of great doors, stood open and welcoming on the south end of the building. Chatter flowed from within the great hall which the doors opened into. Adults stood around in loose groups, while fillies and colts chased each other around and through the great hall, sometimes detouring into other portions of the manor home.

Deeper within the manor home, a cellar door fell closed as a cutie-marked stallion climbed down a ladder into a spacious cellar. The stallion skipped most of the ladder's rungs, landing softly on the hay strewn floor. He stood still for a moment as his eyes adjusted to the darkness. He trotted to a section of unmarked boarded wall. With certain hooves, he pried off one of the wooden boards, exposing the naked stone behind.

Reaching both hooves into a dark crevice, he fancied he felt a crackle of life energy and liberation as he slid a scratched wine bottle into the naked air. Removing the cobwebs, Full Lance watched the expired fluid within the bottle slosh and settle and slosh again. In Full Lance handled the time worn bottle delicately with his burnished grey hooves. He let out a little sigh as he reflected on, and appreciated his freedoms and wealth. A new season and a new moon, and the fields now fallow spun and eddied in Full Lance's mind. "Hmm," Full Lance pursed looking back to the bottle, "I wonder if Thistle has anything like this?"

Full Lance knit his eyebrows focusing on the bottle, feeling something more than his regular emotions and memories. In a moment the sense was gone and he was derailed thoughts of the past both happy, sad and the bulk of inbetween and perpendicular emotions which furthered to various lessons and realizations and ongoing learnings. Full Lance's mind wandered to the future, and eventually back to the present whereupon he walked the bottle around the perimeter of the cellar; idly watching the liquid in the scratched glass bottle move, undulate and wash. After a time, Full Lance returned the bottle to its hiding place, replacing the board in the wall before he exited the cellar.

Full lance came up into the pantry where burlap sacks of grains had been stacked along with small bales of hay. Around autumn Full Lance liked to keep the rationing strict so as to have enough food to ride out the winter. He'd learned that a harsh toll waited for those who didn't heed to life's variables...

Still, Full Lance thought, a little snack probably won't hurt anyone. He shuffled a little of hay off it's bale.

This harvest had been especially rewarding this year. This hay was indeed just stiff enough to provide that chewy straw feeling, but just moist enough that the edges didn't scrape the palette.

Moist hay... moist hay? Something bothered Full Lance about the moist hay... Hadn't minty said something? Nah, it's probably fine.

"Oh, of course!" Full Lance realized. He had almost forgotten about the celebratory feast he was holding. He'd invited all his peasants to his manor house to partake in glorious food, so he'd probably better attend to that!

Full Lance opened the pantry door, stepping into the kitchen. It was currently bustling with activity along the cupboard lined counters surrounding a rectangular island capped with slate. A few pots, pans, ingredients and byproducts were strewn precariously in relatively unoccupied corners as a rapidly growing number of delectably delegated trays and platters displaced them. Assistants combined, garnished and cooked vegetables, meats, grains and pastries all to the tune of sizzling sauces. A mint colored pony --Mint Simmer-- stood at the metaphorical head of this loosely controlled culinary dance, directing assistants whenever needed and sometimes admonishing mistakes. Full Lance watched her swaying curls as she somehow balanced the preparation of at least five sauces simultaneously.

"Er, excuse me sir," went on of the assistants, "I need to get past you."

"Oh, of course," Full lance said, stepping away from the pantry door.

Mint Simmer glanced back at Full Lance briefly. "Finish your cellar sojourn, Lance?" inquired Minty, "Did you find anything special in all that hay?"

"No?" Full Lance replied, not expecting the question.

"You know there sure is a lot of hay down there. Enough for a pony or two to sleep in, hmmm?"

"Yeah, I bet somepony could sleep down there. It's pretty well insulated so it probably wouldn't be very noisy."

Minty Managed to somehow stir a gyrating pot off and back onto the stove top, hardly missing a beat. "I bet it'd be great for a little heavy slumber."

"Perhaps even a snore!"

"A snore?"

"A... a snooze?

Minty looked back and gave him one of her little frowns, with a slight pout and eyes displaying flat disappointment.

"A nice... nap?" asked Lance, trying the dig himself out of the hole he had evidently dug.
The frown was replaced by an emotionless line, it was clear that he had only dug himself deeper.

"Well, I'm making this feast happen. I should probably go check to make sure everyone is getting here okay." Full Lance excused himself.

"Yup." said Minty.

"Good luck with those sauces!" And with that, Full Lance made for the exit leading the feasting hall in the best not-an-uncomfortably-leaving-an-awkward-situation trot he could muster!

Author's Note:

Proverb of the day: Save your work before your laptop loses battery and you have to redo everything!

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