Chapter 1
The first thing you do is you get the right sort of water. Ponyville has wonderful spring water, that comes up through the chalk beds, but it is too hard. Twilight distills hers in the laboratory downstairs and then adds just the right amount of impurities to give it a good bite.
The princess always says the water makes the tea. She got hers from a spring, high in the mountains, a spring only she knew about. A little secret, she told Twilight, a little something special, she kept just for herself. It was just water, she said, but she had come to see the spring as a friend, ever constant but still changing. She remembered centuries with a bitter tang, and others where the water had a sulfurous edge, as the meltwater seeped through stone and leeched out various tastes and flavors.
Then you boil the water adding salt, just as much as would fit on the edge of a knife. Each tea requires its own temperature, but whatever it is you must boil it first. Twilight heaves the heavy iron kettle on the hob, using her hooves clumsily. She could lift it with magic so very easily, but she never does. Back in Canterlot, the princess never did. She gets the fire going and waits. Her mother always said that a watched kettle never boils, but Twilight’s not watching, not really. The pale light of the morning lends an unreal air to everything, and she lets her eyes unfocus. Breathe in. Breathe out. Soon, she can hear a faint murmur from the kettle, a little private song just for her. She remembers that sound, the snug mundane comfort of it. It still helps, a little bit, even now.
The princess always made the tea herself. Always. Twilight never asked why. It never occurred to her to ask why the ruler of the entire country would do such a menial task. It seemed right that she would take time, just after raising the sun, and make tea for her student and herself. And while she made the tea she would talk, but never about things here and now. Instead she would…remember. Sometimes time seemed to lay so heavily on her, that Twilight wondered if the princess was even aware that Twilight was there. And then, as if she knew, Celestia would lock eyes with her charge and smile. Celestia was rarely seen without a smile, and Twilight had built up an entire atlas of them in her head. Kind smiles, proud smiles, honest grins of amusement, mischievous smirks and a thousand variations on the same joyful theme. But this was a special smile and fit nowhere on Twilight’s maps and charts. It was a special morning smile and it was just for Twilight and nopony else. Twilight did ask, when she got older and the magic of it became commonplace if no less wondrous, why Celestia only spoke of ancient times and long lost friends. Celestia looked almost surprised to hear the question. After pausing for thought, swirling warm water around the teapot, she replied that she never thought the day truly started until you’ve had your first cup of tea. Until then, the sun may be in the sky, but she still saw it as just barely nighttime—the time for dreams and memories and…She fell silent then and it was as if a cloud had passed in front of the Sun. Twilight didn’t understand that silence, but she remembered it. And, years later, in a ruined hall deep in the Everfree she finally understood and took pride in the understanding.
You always warm the pot. It is a little thing, the princess said, but it is important as little things so often are. Without the fire’s embrace the water starts to cool, faster than you might think, too. And each tea has a particular temperature that suits it. Too high and the tea is scalded and the flavor bruised. Too low and the flavor is flat and uninspired. So you have to use water at just the right temperature and get the pot at just the right temperature and get them to come together at just the right time. Twilight uses a precisely calibrated thermometer for this, carefully measuring until the water gets to eighty degrees.
The Princess doesn’t need a thermometer. She would pull the kettle aside and continue talking about a game of chess that decided the fate of a kingdom, a flower that bloomed once every hundred years in the dead of night or how the eldest and the mightiest of the dragon emperors learned how to cry. And Twilight would listen, mouth slightly open and eyes wide, as time flaked and swirled around them like snow. And then, no matter how deep in the story the princess would, without so much as a pause, reach out to the water which had attained just the right temperature. And every time Twilight gave a little start of surprise, because every time she would forget about kettles and tea and time itself, so lost was she in the words.
Twilight keeps her tea in copper tins lined with glass. The tins were a gift from the princess and Twilight still marvels at them. They are like her, she thinks. Simple. Unadorned. Twilight reaches out towards the tin with jasmine tea. She makes a show of checking the label, though she knows she got the right one. It is in the same place every time. She takes out a copper spoon used for this and nothing else and carefully measures three spoonfuls. One for her. One for the pot. One for the princess. Habit dictated that there should be three spoonfuls and hope didn’t have the heart to disagree.
Princess Celestia loves tea. This is the little bit of trivia, the little bit of personal information everypony knows about the princess. It’s almost a joke, something for ponies to recall with fondness about their beloved princess. And they do love her. Everypony does. And loving tea so much, the princess has a tea for every occasion. A tea for work, a tea for talking, even a tea for arguing. And, most importantly, a tea for waking up. She only ever drank jasmine tea in the early mornings and only ever did so with Twilight. A few times when she was quite ill Twilight would awaken to find the princess at her bedside waiting patiently, teapot at hoof. She always wondered why this was so important to the princess, but she never dared ask. Asking would break the magic of it. For once in her entire life, Twilight the scholar didn’t want to know. She does wonder, now, if the princess drinks it still. If she even notices that Twilight is no longer there.
You pour the water, gently, ever so gently, over the leaves, swirling them slowly around the teapot. You never use a wire basket or a muslin bag, the princess said. The leaves need room to move around. Time is also important, as important as temperature. Black tea is robust and will take as much as six minutes. But jasmine is delicate, gentle stuff. The princess always seemed to know just how long to leave it steeping. Twilight couldn’t tell by instinct, but she had, with some effort, determined that it takes about seventy-four seconds for the tea to steep properly. She’s sitting now, her mane not even properly combed, sleep still clinging to her eyes and watching the stopwatch unblinkingly. Sixty-two. Time to lift. Seventy. Pour. The liquid hits the silver strainer and a small jot of it spills onto the countertop. Two cups, the liquid in them the color of pale gold. Seventy-four. Done. Two perfect cups of jasmine tea with just a few fragments of leaf floating on the surface. The strainer is built to allow for this small imperfection. The annoyance of the odd leaf helps us appreciate the tea more, the princess said. The imperfection makes something better. Easier to love. Twilight never understood. What did the princess know of imperfection?
Twilight spoke to the princess more often than anypony else. She taught her, answered questions and posed some of her own. But mornings were special. What Celestia did wasn’t like telling stories. There were hardly any beginnings and never any ends. They were memories and Celestia would sort and sift through them like a normal pony might through an old photo album, sparing a fond smile for one and the glisten of an unshed tear for another. There wasn’t much significance to them, sometimes. Celestia would skip over a war that ravaged a continent and talk instead about a peculiar game she saw foals play two thousand years ago in a field that’s now a desert. Or about the amazing sound a sudden rainfall makes in Zebrica and the smell of the dust just as the water hits it. But important or not, the memories were always her. As much her as that kind smile or those graceful wings or the smell of jasmine and sandalwood. The memories were like a warm cloak there for her every morning, wrapping her in safety and affection.
Twilight stares at the two cups, steam gently rising above them in two narrow wreaths which, buffeted by an errant gust of wind, twirl together. She closes her eyes and inhales. She holds that breath as long as she can, unwilling to let go. At length, she can bear it no longer and lets it all out in one long shudder. She then grasps the teacups in her telekinesis and gently tips them over into the sink. She doesn’t like jasmine tea, and never did. Carefully, so very carefully, she puts the cups away for next time. She dries her eyes, which had gotten unaccountably wet and goes off to sort books and do other sensible, reasonable things.
Also LikedSimilarAuthor
- GhostOfHeraclitus · 6.5k words · 994 12 · 12k views
- GhostOfHeraclitus · 32k words · 939 14 · 13k views
- PoweredByTea · 3.5k words · 982 10 · 10k views
- GhostOfHeraclitus · 20k words · 2,947 44 · 49k views
- Skywriter · 2.6k words · 1,572 22 · 21k views
- Skywriter · 5.8k words · 908 9 · 16k views
- Skywriter · 11k words · 1,442 17 · 25k views
- Bad Horse · 4.1k words · 1,749 28 · 28k views
Stats
Page generated in 0.206 seconds
Total duration
1,003 users online
265,232 hits today, 2,280,440 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.®
So. Here it is. My first stab at a sad story. I didn't mean to write it when I did, but it just sort of forced its way out one day. I've shown this to quite a few of my friends and so, as short as it is, this story has been pre-read by a number of fine pony folk:
Bad Horse
Dagger Tongue
Kobalstromo
Varanus
I'd like to thank all of them for being so helpful and for putting up with me when I was being difficult. I'm a bit stubborn, me.
Nice and simple. Much better than the usual "Pony Does X" garbage in other one-shots.
and first
And thus, the ritual -- and the memory -- is honored.
Beautifully done. You have a way with words that I truly envy.
Wow. Portrayal of the Princess was excellent, and the ending made the story for me.
Nicely done on this one. Verging just on the edge of too long; even as short as it already is, I think you've got enough content here to fill about nine-tenths of what was eventually actually written. But the scenes are well-drawn and the imagery good.
Ahhh... very nice. That language was like a breath of fresh air. The ending was particularly nice, the way it was open-ended, leaving you to wonder what exactly she's sad about, but the realization comes quick -- that it doesn't really matter.
Plus, I'm quite fond of the idea of the princess telling stories over tea.
Well done!
*Inspects tags*
*considers story again*
Interesting.
I think the line about hope not having the heart to disagree was the real kicker.
And thus Twilight grieves that she is in longer in Celestia's presence, and that she was no longer something to fill the void of Luna's absence.
Wonderful story.
That was a very good read. I found it captures the feeling between them better than anything else I've read so far.
Very well done, my friend.
~SkeeterTL
Hmm, I'm thinking they've grown apart somehow, or that Twilight, now living in ponyville, rarely sees much of her mentor, and being twilight, wonders if the princess has forgotten her. It could also be a 'Celestia is dead' deal, but given that one line about 'Celestia not noticing if Twilight is there' seems to me to suggest it's not that situation.
Anyway, I like it! Always enjoy a good Twilight and Celestia centered fic. You used an interesting mix of tense/perspective too. Keep it up.
The sadness of growing up and growing apart. Your parents felt it, and your grandparents, and all the way back to some skin-clad biped looking forlornly out the mouth of the cave, wondering just what valley their children have gone to, and missing their presence around the smoky fire.
The Immortal Princess of the Sun has always struck me as the kind of being to appreciate what is, remember what was, and anticipate what is to come more than any mortal being. May she rule Equestria forever.
This is... wow. I like it. Keep up the good work, and have a mustache and a yay.
I.... I... It's the strangest thing... I'm crying and I don't know why....
I read the last words and about a minute later I am crying..... Why?
Really quite a beautiful little story, and a wonderful exploration of the quiet and personal importance that Celestia has in Twilight's life. An easy favorite, and a joy to find!
If the last story read like a Pratchett tale, the melancholic mood of this story give it a kind of Device Heretic feel to it. I can almost see this leading into Eternal actually. (Sorry I keep comparing you to other authors, it's kind of a thing I do. Can't seem to help it.
) You continue to show a grasp of language that makes your stories in particular so enjoyable to read though. 
Kinda makes me feel bad to point this out.
That a has gotta go.
Loved it, the story was as delicate as the tea.
Not to presume but:
I think its clearer this way:
and talk instead about a peculiar game she saw foals play two thousand years ago in a field that’s now a desert
Again, love your work
Will read later.
Absolutely sublime.
In the time it took me to read through this story and go give it an up-vote, it got 6 others.
Good job. Pacing is always the thing that kills anything I try to write, and the main reason I haven't posted anything yet. But you've got a decent pace to this, going just slow enough to capture the feel of the ritual, without dragging the story on too far.
Also, loved the last bit. Twilight puts so much effort into learning how to make it just right, even though she hates Jasmine tea.
It was okay and well written, but I didn't get any of those Feels.
She even schedules her moments of sentimentality. Oh, Twilight.
(Closest emoticon I could find to "amusement mixed with sorrow at the degree of control the protagonist demands of herself.")
A fantastically written character piece for Twilight and Celestia alike. Well done, and thank you.
A memento mori for Twilight?
"No matter how powerful you will get, how much light or darkness you will cast, becoming one of my memories is the best approximation to eternal life you can hope for."
Yeah, I wouldn't drink that tea either.
Huh. One down-vote. I guess this isn't...
*sunglasses*
Everyone's cup of tea.
YYYYEEEAAAAAAAAAHHH!!!
1498460
I think I know the exact moment when I broke my mother's heart with this sadness. I was playing a video game downstairs, and had forgotten she was upstairs. A monster jumped out at me, and I blurted an expletive. The silence, both hers and mine, was deafening.
1498349
You have no idea how much I tried to cut it down, but I'm terrible at brevity. This is in many ways me deliberately going so far out my comfort zone you can't see it with a telescope. If I wrote it in my natural style there would be a two-thousand-word digression on every single type of tea Celestia fancies, how they are made, where, what of and what unique cultural, social and economic factors lead up to them.
1498531
I'm glad you will. I really like your stuff.
Hey! Steel Resolve!
1498553
No, it's okay. It is in many ways experimental. Quite natural for it not to be your, ahem, cup of tea. (Dammit, Martian, beaten to the punch!)
1498490
You keep comparing me to other, better, authors. Clearly I must be doing something right.
1498591
That is an interesting take on it. It's not why the princess does it (in my head-canon, obviously) but it is very interesting.
Wow. That was surprisingly deep, GhostOfHeraclitus. Thank you for writing this. As odd as this sounds, it cheered me up.
Et sic recordati sumus.....
Beautiful...
This was nice. Simple. Just like this review. Have a thumbs up.
...well then. That was a wonderful short story.
Just a little something, but it's a wonderful little something... ummm... I think I might go make myself a cup of tea now.
1498600
well, it seems some one has beaten me to the punch.
ah well, good on you
Hmm...
That was...
It...
I guess....
...
You know what? I'm not quite sure what to say. There's no story, no conflict, no anything. Just purely writ emotion. And I love it. Never before has 2000 words of nothing given me such feels. Bravo author, bravo.
~Signed, InfiniteBrony
Oh look, this is a featured story, must be good.
*reads*
I feel like a cup of tea.
1498630
Still, all joking about you secretly being Terry Pratchett aside, you DO have your own style of writing. Other influences show, but I am not going to actually mistake your stories for someone else's, and I don't want to cheapen your stories by implying otherwise. Does that make sense, I am godawful at this.
Sometimes, a cup of tea is just a cup of tea just like sometimes a cigar is just a cigar.
Or am I reading too much into this?
1498792
Relax. It's fine. How else are you going to describe someone's style that by comparing it to others. What else do you say? "The writing style is, yes, quite blue with a hint of purple 'round the edges. I especially appreciate the rotundness of it and the hint of lemon."
Actually...I think that's how I'm going to pre-read stories from now on.
GOH: "The story was, yes, quite yellow."
UnfortunatePreReadee: "Good yellow? Bad yellow?"
GOH: "Pale yellow."
UnfortunatePreReadee: *sounds of rage*
1498836
This is why you are best poni.
Simplicity turned to a masterpiece.
Fantastic.
now the thing is, do i even care?
Ahhh. Nostalgia. You make us remember the better days. You make us remember all the smiles, the joy and the happiness we once shared with loved ones. You make our heart ache when you tell us it's all a thing of the past. You hurt us when you make us realise that indulging you is unhealthy.
And that is called humanity.
PS: Your noticeable love for tea puts you high up in my mental list of people I respect.
I don't always trust the feature box to give me stories I like, but I did trust Bad Horse's recommendation. I'm glad I did. This is quietly poignant, dense in a way that's a joy to unfold.
My only regret is that, after reading the last paragraph, my brain will not stop insisting that this is a prequel of some sort to Princess Celestia Hates Tea.
Ah. Introspective Twilight is best Twilight. This makes me feel that tiny hint of melancholy That I generally reserve for quiet, reflective times when I remember special times passed and special people moved on. Not sad, per se, but properly still in the face of a universe that all to often insists on turning the page whether we are ready or not.
In any case, as you may have deduced, I liked this. Your command of the English language and seeming talent for mood and pacing have made both of your stories quite enjoyable for me and so long as you are willing to continue writing them, I shall be more than happy to read them.
Oh god... The feels. Well done, nonetheless.
Melancholy and poignant. A very good read, GoH!
A single nit-pick: it should be "leached" instead of "leeched" in the first italicized interlude.
Very well written, and had/has alot of potential. I just find the end falling off. I thought it was building up to something, and felt it was, only to have it end with Twilight going to read.
Still, worth the time to read, and TY for it.
Ah, that was a nice change of pace from all the action and clop crap in the featured window. I have to say, you seem to put your own voice into the story quite nicely, and I will give you a very high rating for this. 9.2/10. Keep your writing fresh, and I might just have to learn something from you.
Very well written.
I just don't know what's going on.
A pleasant little story
I liked the ending quite a bit.
Lies, tea is great cold as well Twilight. Unsweet Iced tea, yum.
loved it!
i usually hate sad stories, there are a few exceptions of course, but not many; they always leave a bad aftertaste, and while the same is true for this one; it wasn't as bad as most of them and the way there was very good.