No, No It Doesn't
Carrot Cake paced back and forth outside the Ponyville General maternity ward. His mind raced, the stark surroundings and antiseptic odors giving him nothing to distract himself from his own anxiety. He yearned for a cigarette out of psychic sympathy with millions of anxious fathers-to-be before him, though tobacco had not been cultivated in Equestria for over a century.
A bloodcurdling shout from within stopped him in his tracks. Carrot knew that voice. "Sugar cookie," he muttered. He walked through the doors of the ward, heedless of whatever looks the staff gave him.
"WHERE IS HE? WHERE'S MY CARROT!?"
The baker began to trot towards the cry. His dear, sweet Cup was calling for him! She needed him!
"I'M GOING TO WRING HIS SCRAWNY NECK UNTIL HE'S IN HALF AS MUCH PAIN AS I AM!"
Carrot skidded to a halt just outside the room from which the scream had come. On second thought, a stallion had no business being at birth. He'd just get in the way.
Nurse Redheart stuck her head out of the room. Carrot belatedly realized how loud hooves on tile must be. The nurse just stared at him. In less than a second, that flat look said, "You fool. You have trotted through the gates of Tartarus, and now you have the gall to look surprised as the hosts of Tirek stand before you." It was a look any obstetrician perfected in short order.
Aloud, she simply said, "Well, you'd better come in," her tone leaving no room for argument.
Carrot Cake crept through the door. There were nurses, two of them, Redheart resanitizing herself, another – a yellow mare he didn't recognize – attending to the mother. But she was in the center of it all. His love. His better half. The mare who completed him, who held a piece of his soul in her heart, just as he did hers. She stood, knees locked, facing him, face blank.
The stallion felt a nervous smile form. "Um, hi, honey bun."
Cup Cake glared at her husband with the fury that can only come from the pain a man can never know. "YOU." There was so much loathing, so much bile in that single syllable that by all rights it should've melted the flesh off of Carrot's skull. The laboring mare geared up for another volley, only to scream as she was interrupted by another contraction.
"I can see the head!" cried the nurse behind her. "There's a horn!"
Cup gave a wordless cry, focused on expelling what felt like a moon-sized mass. The bastard who did this to her could wait a bit longer.
Carrot swallowed. "I-I'll just go back outside."
"YOU WILL STAY AND SEE WHAT YOU DID TO ME FIRSTHOOF. GAZE UPON MY DILATING CERVIX AND DESPAIR!"
"Or not." Fear had nailed his hooves to the floor.
"Don't worry," said the nurse with front-row seats for despair, "I've seen worse."
"Not the time, Coldheart," Redheart muttered, moving to her fellow nurse's side.
"Fine, but if the father makes a mess on the floor, I'm not mopping it up."
"That's what Dr. Itor is for, and you know it."
"Yeah, but at least— Hello!" Nurse Coldheart smiled as she cradled a new life in her forehooves. "Congratulations, it's a filly. And a unicorn, but, well, that's rather obvious."
"WHY ISN'T THIS OVER!?" Cup Cake cried.
"Why isn't it over?" Carrot echoed.
"Well, there's still the afterbirth, but—" Redheart stopped dead. "Luna's teats, we've got another one."
Carrot swayed like a stiff wind would knock him over "Twins?"
"TWINS!?" Cup Cake then let loose a torrent of such varied and creative profanity, several of the interns and a few of the doctors within earshot took notes for future reference. "...WITH A SPATULA!"
Nurse Coldheart couldn't help but smirk. "I'd pay good money to see tha—" She was cut off by a burst of blue light that erupted from Cup Cake's body. The emanation sent her sprawling along with Redheart, dazing both as they struck the walls of the room.
When the pair of medics came to, they immediately checked themselves for signs of a concussion. Then they checked each other. There was, quite simply, no way that they were seeing what they were seeing.
Oh, that Mister Cake had somehow stepped up to help his wife finish her delivery wasn't so surprising. Heck, he'd probably make some bad joke about "just another bun from the oven" if they asked. The foals' races were a bit surprising, but hardly unheard of. It was rather impressive that the colt was already managing to hover up to his mother's upper teat as she lay on her side and he and his sister nursed, but, again, not unprecedented.
No, what was quite plainly impossible was that the new parents both had prominent wings and horns. And yet there they were, plain as day.
Carrot noticed the nurses stirring, saw their awe and confusion, and sighed. "Oh, crullers."
Redheart swallowed and shakily got to her hooves. "M-Mister Cake, I would very much like an explanation for this."
"If nothing else," noted Coldheart, "we're really going to need to update your medical insurance." She'd meant it as a joke, but the words had come out clipped and panicky.
Carrot's thoughts raced, but they were only going in circles. How long had he known this day would come, how long had he planned for it? And now, here it was, and all the brilliant schemes he and Cup had devised were nowhere to be found. All he had was fear and love. He stretched a wing over his wife. "W-well, nurses, it's all very complicated—"
"Indeed." The voice came from everywhere and nowhere. A flash of daylight, brilliant yet not blinding, filled the room. When it receded, a third alicorn was standing in the room. Princess Celestia smiled and nodded to the new parents. "Cup. Carrot. Congratulations are in order."
Cup Cake smiled beatifically, her earlier pain washed away by love and hormones. "Thank you, Your High– Celestia."
Coldheart looked back and forth among the trio of godlike entities before her. "Okay, could somepony please start explaining what in the name of Hippocampus is going on here? I feel like my head's going to explode." She turned to Redheart. "'Tria, please tell me you aren't an alicorn."
Redheart could only shake her head. "If I am, it's news to me."
Celestia sat. "I will be happy to explain, nurses. The story begins more than two hundred years ago, during Equestria's sixth annual national dessert competition..."
Two highly talented bakers had competed in each of the five previous contests, and each time had come up short. One, Taproot, was an earth pony stallion from the still new settlement of Ponyville. The other, Dainty Delight, was every inch a Canterlot unicorn mare. They blamed each other for their losses, and in a way, they were right, for every year they focused more and more of their energy on subverting the other than doing their best.
In the fifth competition, their attempts to undermine each other worked all too well; both lost in the first round. With that, recognizing that there was no point in making the other lose if neither could win, they declared a truce. The next year, each one would devote all of his or her efforts to making the absolute best dessert he or she could. Then they could finally lay their rivalry to rest.
The day of the contest arrived, and each came well prepared, bearing edible masterpieces the likes of which few have ever matched. Taproot and Dainty Delight both soared to the final round, outclassing all others. Finally, the time came for their final presentation.
The two finalists stood next to one another on a table adorned with only a white tablecloth and their entries. Each would present his or her work to the final judge, who would sample each and make my, ahem, her decision.
They made for quite a sight. On the left, from the judge's view, was Taproot, as lanky a stallion as had ever been seen. Many times had he been told he should have been named Beanpole, but his coat was yellow as the inside of a yam, and his mane orange as a carrot. His cutie mark? A small sprout with a long, deep taproot. He was never much to look at, but he had great hidden depths.
On the right was Dainty Delight, who had never forgiven her parents. Both well-to-do and more than pleasantly plump, they had named their daughter as a wish that never came true. Her girth was great enough for two ponies, great rolls of fat gathered beneath her blue coat. Her vanity demanded her magenta mane be kept perfect, her jewelry only the best, all in an attempt to distract from her sheer size. Even her talent was devoted to the task. Baking was her hobby; her true skill lay in size alteration magic, as the two hearts, one atop the other, tiny over huge, on her flank attested.
They say absence makes the heart grow fonder, but that is true only when fondness is there to begin with. In general, absence makes memories become... more. All the little details are forgotten, the bits that don't match the heart's opinion of the one in question. Twelve months without seeing each other, scarcely even thinking of one another, had refined the confectioners' mutual loathing into a hatred so pure, so uncompromising, it was almost a form of love.
Almost.
"Shrew," Taproot muttered as they awaited the final judge. Whether he began the volley of insults I cannot say, but his was the first I heard.
"Knave," answered Dainty.
"Lump."
"Stick."
"Sow."
"Gelding!"
"My little ponies!"
Both started. "Princess!"
I looked at them not with rage, but sorrow. "This is a competition, my ponies, yes, but it meant to be a friendly one. Do not let something as trivial as a contest of confectionery tear you asunder."
Both looked down, ashamed, muttering variations on "Yes, Princess."
I smiled. "Good. Now, Master Taproot, what do you have for us this year?"
A squeak escaped Dainty Delight's lips. She clearly wanted to object to her rival going first, but dared not so soon after my rebuke. Taproot had noticed as well, judging by the smirk on his muzzle. "As you know, Your Grace," he began, "I have long been experimenting with the use of roots and tubers in all of my cooking, baking included."
"Often leading to folly," Dainty spat.
Taproot did not deign to notice. "This year, I believe I have perfected the carrot cake. The perfect balance of moisture, flavor, cinnamon, walnuts, raisins... it is, in short, the pinnacle of all such efforts." He lifted the plain tin cover from a plate of chipped but still lovely porcelain, no doubt an heirloom of many generations. A white-frosted cylinder stood upon it, practically glowing with the care and attention he had lavished on the pastry.
"Cream cheese frosting?" I asked.
He grinned. He was not, by any stretch of the imagination, an attractive stallion, but no pony is ugly when he smiles. "What else?"
I nodded in approval, then turned to the mare. "Mistress Delight, I am sure you will live up to your name."
Dainty Delight drew herself up. "Society and art teaches us that less is more, yet logic and experience tell us just as surely that more is more. I have reconciled this eternal paradox and made it not merely edible, but," and here she gave a coquettish grin as rehearsed as her speech, "delightful." She whisked the cover off of the silver platter, revealling a trio of dark-frosted pastries, each no bigger than a newborn's hoof.
"Cupcakes," Taproot sneered. "Congratulations. All your philosophy has brought you to the same solution for excess cake batter that bakers everywhere have already discovered."
Dainty shook her head, her chins wobbling for some time afterwards. "Oh, poor, short-sighted peasant. These are not merely the scraps of some greater work. This batter is made to be cupcakes, must be cupcakes. Magically reduced to one tenth the volume while retaining every crumb of flavor, it is too rich, too decadent, too overwhelming to be made into anything larger. To do so would be to overwhelm the palate, forcing upon it so much flavor in so short a time as to turn delight into disgust."
"As if trying anything you make would not do the same," scoffed Taproot.
I looked from one dish to the other. The smells alone were making my mouth water to the point of nearly drowning. Swallowing, I proclaimed, "It is clear to me that whichever entry I were to sample first would be declared the winner. Therefore, there is only one fair way to judge them." I lifted a forkful of carrot cake and a cupcake and popped both into my mouth at the same time.
Both entrants watched as I chewed, allowing the flavors to mingle. "Mmmm..." My eyes rolled up as earthy moisture melded with Llamazonian cacao, exotic liqueurs played against sweet, humble raisins. "Mmmm..." My knees shook as the entire world seemed to collapse into the contents of my mouth. "MmmmmMMM!" My eyes shut. My legs buckled. My horn filled with the solar warmth of magic.
Believe me, that last bit was as much a surprise to me as to anypony.
When I opened my eyes again, every pony I could see had the same expression: eyes wide, mouth hanging open, gaze locked on the finalists' entries. Once I followed those gazes, I understood why.
On each plater, the antique china and the fresh-beaten silver, was a sleeping foal. Each bore a striking resemblance to the pony who owned the plate, save for two or three small details.
Specifically, wings and a horn.
"Wha... I... Your Highness, you..." Dainty Delight fainted without another word.
Taproot looked ready to follow suit. "What happened?" he muttered, unable to take his eyes off his diminutive doppelganger.
I coughed into a hoof, blushing a bit. "Ah, well. It would appear that when put together, your two cakes were, in a very literal sense, simply divine."
Taproot's gaze stayed fixed on the colt before him, who had begun to suck his hoof in his sleep. "S-so, what now?"
I nodded. "Ah, yes, that's the question, isn't it?"
"With the knowledge that they had created something that could bring the very sun to her knees, Taproot and Dainty Delight made their peace, marrying and raising the foals as their own. In recognition of their... unusual origin, they named each after the dish from which he or she was created. For decades thereafter, Taproot and Dainty Delight were the Royal Confectioners, Cup and Carrot taking their place when their time came." Celestia smiled at the old memories. "At first, I had thought they would see each other as siblings, but their feelings for one another were clearly more."
The cake-born couple nuzzled one another. "I only ever had eyes for my sweet Cup Cake," Carrot cooed.
"And I never wanted anything but Carrot Cake," answered Cup.
"B-but... shouldn't they be ruling Equestria with you?" Redheart blurted.
Celestia blinked, puzzled. "I accidentally caused a pair of desserts to ascend to sapience and unfathomable magical power because of their sheer deliciousness. How in the wide, wide world of Equestria could they be fit to rule? No offense to you, Cup and Carrot."
"None taken, Celestia," Cup said graciously. "We never wanted to rule or be royalty or anything like that."
Carrot nodded. "We'll always be grateful to you, Celestia, but we would never presume to be capable of replacing you."
"And the foals?" asked Coldheart.
"Imperfect alicorns. They will be powerful, but mortal." Celestia looked to her fellow alicorns with sorrow. "I pray you know what you're doing."
Cup closed her eyes, shuddering. Carrot answered the princess. "We discussed this for a long time, Celestia. Ever since you sent us to watch over the Bearer of Laughter. We're prepared for... for what will come."
"Very well." Celestia rose, then stretched her limbs one after the other to several audible pops. "Now, I think I've kept you all long enough." She turned to the nurses. "I don't think I need to tell you how important it is that you maintain doctor-patient confidentiality on the matter."
"Of course!" Coldheart cried.
Redheart nodded frantically. "Goes without saying, Your Highness."
Celestia smiled and nodded. "Excellent. Congratulations again, Cup and Carrot. Good luck in this year's competition." With that, she vanished as brightly and as suddenly as she'd arrived.
Applejack frowned as she took in the Cakes' two new foals. "Now how in thunderation is one o' them twins a pegasus and the other one a unicorn?"
Carrot Cake grinned. With his horn and wings concealed, it was much easier to call his cover story to mind. "Easy! My great-great-great-great grandfather was a unicorn, and Cup Cake's great aunt's second cousin twice removed was a pegasus." Oh yeah. Smooth. "That makes sense, right?" Okay, maybe not smooth as possible, but that was probably the sleep deprivation.
Nurse Redheart frowned. Surely the student of Princess Celestia and her friends deserved to know the truth. She opened her mouth, but said nothing. She blinked, tried again, and failed again. She began to panic, a pit forming in her stomach. "Excuse me." She glared at Pinkie Pie. "And be quiet."
She raced to the front desk, trying and failing to say the frustrating simple sentence. "The Cakes are alicorns." Four words. Six syllables. No dice.
Redheart came to stop less than an inch away from crashing into Coldheart, who had a scroll in her hooves. The blue mare gave her a look halfway between fear and sympathy. "You too, 'Tria?"
It was obvious what she meant. What else could it be? Redheart nodded.
"Yeah, thought so. You should probably see this." Coldheart passed her the scroll.
To Nurses Atria Redheart and Aorta Coldheart,
Firstly, my sincerest apologies. I do not like applying geases anymore than ponies enjoy laboring under them. Sadly, for the sake of our nation's continued safety, this was the only choice that did not involve actively erasing your memories. Had there been any more palatable option, believe me, I would have taken it.
Secondly, the details of the compulsion: You may not reveal the Cakes' true nature to any who do not already know, whether through speech, writing, or any other act of intent. Your voices will falter, your writing will be indecipherable, your every attempt will fail. I do this not out of malice or mistrust, but because I must. The Cakes were my mistake and remain my responsibility, even now.
I know too well how you must feel now. If you must blame anypony, blame me, not the Cakes. They wish only to live as normal a life as they can. Fall in love, run a business, raise a family. All that I
What little restitution I can offer you is yours. You are always welcome in Canterlot to petition me, and if your requests are within my power, they will be carried out. Please, do not ask me to lift this geas. I will have no choice but to refuse.
With the sincerest apologies and a heavy heart,
HRH Princess Celestia
The nurses took some time to process this. Neither was even particularly surprised when the letter burst into heatless flames, not even leaving ash. Finally, Redheart muttered, "That bitch."
"Her heart was in the right place," Coldheart insisted. "Still, kind of a dick move."
"When's the earliest you can take a day off, Aorta?"
"Umm... next Thursday, I think? Why?"
Redheart glowered, her nostrils flaring. "Because next Thursday, we're going to Canterlot."