Drinkage
Written Script stood at Luna's side, levitating a quill and a roll of parchment that spilled into a messy pile at his hooves. As he slowly drew the quill's point through a scribble, a hankie hovered towards his forehead and brushed away the sweat and matted black mane plastered to it. Atop his head, his red steward's cap was tilted to the side and the gold sigil of the Royal Sisters seemed to threaten melting in the brutal summer heat, though it could also very well be distortion from the heat waves. "Final Finish, representing the Wonderbolts Academy," he said curtly. "Step forward." An old string-bean of a pegasus donning the Wonderbolts cream-and-blue flightsuit emerged from the throng of civilian ponies gathered before the Royal Canterlot Court.
Final bowed to the sisters, muttering a quick string of courtesies before beginning. "Your Highnesses . . .," he started, speaking in a dry, ponderous voice that was made twenty times more agonizing to listen to during the summer heat wave, "I come on behalf of the Wonderbolts . . . carrying with me a message that they decree is of . . . of . . . uh . . . uh, of dire importance."
To Written Script's left, Princess Luna sat in her stylized night-themed throne, emblazoned with silver stars that were peeling from the wood finish. Her forelocks fell over one eye, tangled and grimed with sweat, but her other eye was wide open. A little too wide . . .
"Luna?" her sister whispered from the corner of her mouth, eyes still locked on the ponderous pegasus pony. Princess Celestia was seated higher than her sister, and in a larger gold-silver throne, its back carved in the semblance of a rising sun that looked fit for a queen. Immediately she realized that her sister had painted her eyelid and was actually asleep, as the mirage was betrayed by her steady breathing and constant fixation on the great lilac doors on the other end of the throne room.
"The Wonderbolts, ah, feel that they have s-served Equestria without, urgh, compensation for many years . . . and would find it only fair that they . . . that they are permitted expansion of the Academy . . . so that they could increase the number of obstacle courses that in turn would launch a spike in recruitment and proficiency of . . . of pegasi seeking a career in the Wonderbolts." Before receiving an answer, he lurched over and cleared his throat for a solid minute, hacking up a nice glob of phlegm into the red carpet. Celestia could almost hear Written Script groaning at having to wash that out later.
"Thank you, Quick Finish," said the princess, almost equally as ponderously and with strain in her tired voice. "I'll see that the Wonderbolts Academy is expanded by another two zones of airspace."
The old pegasus bowed. "Thank you . . . Your Grace." He hobbled his way back into the gathering of ponies.
Celestia glanced about as Written Script called out another name. Everypony looked ready to pass out; all including her were sweating like dogs. She pitied the Royal Guards standing at key points around the mob, and for her personal guardspony, Greyhound. They were all as stone-faced as ever, but she could see the beads of sweat rolling down their cheeks and dripping from their chins as they baked in their heavy gold-plated armor. All the way on her left side, Suprise, the court jester, was standing on a beach ball juggling an assortment of fruits, trying to keep the ponies happy and entertained in between the intervals of them taking turns to speak. She was the only one smiling, but was probably suffering the most out of everypony present in her mottled garb that was tight on the skin and made of wool.
As the next townspony, a baker it seemed, approached the sisters, as timid as all before him, Celestia discreetly magicked a tug on Luna's mane, jolting the night princess from her slumber. She didn't so much as blush, and instead ground her teeth as the relentlessness of the heat and being rudely awakened boiled her ill-temper. "This heat is unbearable, dear sister," she hissed through a farce smile. Celestia simply gave her that brief glance that said "Deal with it, or I'll make it hotter."
Before the young baker could open his mouth, the great lilac doors of the Canterlot Throne Room opened with a tremulous crash that echoed throughout the spacious chamber. Before anypony present in court could so much as guess at who that was in the distance, a voice, boisterous yet at the same time charismatic, cried out from the threshold: "Princess 'Sunny Ass' Celestia!"
Every jaw in court dropped. Written Script dropped his parchment and quill. Surprise slipped from her ball underneath and was bombarded by the fruits she was once juggling. Though she didn't seem to mind, as she started lapping at the sticky juices staining her sleeves and mane.
The intruder was a human, they could tell for certain. Shorter than most, actually; likely no taller than a filly. He began hobbling down the red carpet towards the assembly with a pair of taller humans flanking him from either side, both garbed in red cloaks. "How are you, old friend?" he asked.
"Halt!" Greyhound left his ruler's side and pushed through the mob of ponies. "There is a court in progress! By what right do you have to intrude and disrespect the princess?"
"A court?" said the little man, not slowing his pace. "As in a courtship? I will not lie, this is a positively dreadful wedding. And I had no idea Celly was into the older types."
Greyhound sprinted down the red carpet, meeting the humans halfway and standing like a brick wall in their path. "You shall show our princess more respect, ape."
"'Ape?' Now that's a new one. And what'll you do if I don't? Friend me to death?" The short man and his pike-wielding guards simply walked around Greyhound, never paying him any more mind outside of the simple jape. As he walked past, Greyhound saw the human donned a black and red tunic with the imprint of what looked like a lion on the chest. His crown of golden-black hair bobbed with each rocking step, but what really caught the guardspony's eye was the man's unnatural eyes, in which one was black and the other green.
He remained gaping at the grotesque human being that just walked by him giving as little regard as a king would a peasant. "B-By what right . . . Who are you?"
The short man and his guards never gave Greyhound the pleasure of seeing their faces again. "Oh, I'm just a little friend of your great ruler. Don't mind me."
The townsponies' eyes were wide and ogling; a few murmurs rose from the crowd as he neared, but parted for the human and his company, giving him a clear path to the princesses. Celestia was as placid as ever, masking any emotion outside of complete apathy towards the intrusion. Her sister however was flicking glances between her and the human that had the gall to trudge up the stairwell without so much as a bow.
The man stopped before Celestia, and only then did he kneel down and kiss her slippered hoof. "Princess Celesita," he said, rising.
The sun princess broke into a smile. "Lord Tyrion Lannister." She bowed her head.
Tyrion shrunk a little to avoid getting bonked by her horn. "Not a lord of anything, I'm afraid. Unless you're referring to the gutters of Casterly Rock." Tyrion straightened his back. "My brother is to inherit the Rock, remember?"
Celestia gave a soft chuckle. "I remember."
Tyrion finally noticed the blue alicorn staring at him with plate-sized eyes and a gaping mouth. "Who's the blue one? And what is wrong with her mouth? Is she a fish?" Tyrion heard a mare or two behind him fainting.
"Our name is . . . Princess Luna," she said slowly, raising her hoof to his level just as deliberately. Tyrion gave it a quick peck and she dropped it with a thud that resonated throughout the hall. "And . . . who are you?" she added.
The halfman ran a hand through his mop of hair, flattened his tunic and furrowed his bulging brow. "Tyrion, son of Tyrwin Lannister of Casterly Rock. And you must be Princess Luna. Greetings! Your sister has told me quite a lot about you, last time I was here."
"Uh . . ."
"Though you are a bit, and if you'll forgive the irony, a bit shorter then I'd imagined."
Celestia laid her wing across Luna's back. "We'll talk tonight," she whispered. She then stood from her throne and looked out upon the townsponies. "Apologies, my subjects. An important matter has arisen and requires my full attention. This court session has ended. We shall resume tomorrow at first light." Immediately several townsponies turned to gossip with one another. The princess levitated Tyrion Lannister up off the ground and settled him on her back, paying no heed to the sudden rise in volume from the ponies gawking at the two. "Let's go for a drink, old friend. I could really use some tea."
"I could go for one myself, M'Lady. The boat ride here was agonizing and my legs are killing me."
Princess Celestia took her leave with Tyrion still seated on her back, gripping her mane for a lack of reins. Exiting the threshold, she turned right and began to ascend a spiral staircase. Tyrion felt as though gravity was trying to push him off and he reaffirmed his grip with another fistful of the princess's colorful mane. "Have you ever thought of investing in a saddle? If it isn't too humiliating, of course."
"You're the one clinging to my back like a baby dragon," said the princess, only in jest. "I don't believe it would be an inspiring sight for the masses to see their ruler donning a saddle. They may get the wrong impression."
Tyrion laughed. "Oh, so you did take my advice and raise a few brothels in this doll's house of a kingdom."
"No, I didn't. Sorry to disappoint. Though if you are looking for a place to unwind while you're here . . ."
"Are you asking me to fuck a horse?" he cut in with a half-jest.
"No," said the princess, curt and slow, "I'm referring to the spa in Ponyville that I refer to every time you mention a brothel or 'hoar-house' during your visits. It's only a day's ride away and I hear they give excellent massages."
"Enticing," said the Imp, "but I'm sad to say I won't be staying long. I've got plans." Tyrion did not sound particularly excited for whatever his "plans" may entail.
Celly's bedroom was likely the coolest room in the entire castle. It was stationed in one of the eastern towers, looking away from the torrid sun, the great purple drapes were drawn and not a spark was glowering in its hearth.
And still it's a fucking desert in here. Tyrion tilted his head back, draining his flask of spiced whine to its last drop. "More!" he cried, his voice slurred to levels of parody. "More I say! or it's off with your heads!"
Laughter burst from Celly's lips. "And he really acts like that? In public?" An iced tea floated up to her lips and she drew a long sip.
"Nowadays, yes. King Robert is quite the angry drunk. But he makes my sister's life hell, and I'm willing to let all of Westeros be put at risk if that's what it took. No but really, I'd love another." He waved his empty flask with a shrewd smile.
"Of course." Celly turned to the only other pony in the room: a unicorn stallion, probably no older than Twilight, wearing a green vest that barely grazed his glass-of-water cutie mark. "Filler Up, would you be so kind as to fetch Lord Tyrion another flask of spiced wine?"
The cup-bearer nodded with a smile. "Of course, Your Highness. From his stash under the kitchen floorboards?"
"No, from the garden outside your castle walls," Tyrion snapped.
Filler suddenly looked as though he were about to soil himself. "Y-Yes Milord." He was gone before Tyrion could even blink.
When he turned back to the princess, he saw the disapproving look on her face, the look of Princess Celestia, as she sat there on her throne of pillows, neck and hooves bare with forelegs crossed and a hovering glass of iced tea bobbing on the side. Tyrion had only one pillow, and even then it was fairly large for him. "What?" he asked, reaffirming his position for the umpteenth time so that it wouldn't swallow him.
"You don't always have to be so rude to my cup-bearers," she said using a scolding tone that a mother would use on her child.
Tyrion laid back, legs crossed with his hands behind his head. "Well where else would my stash of spiced wine be? Here's hoping that the whole bloody cellar didn't sprout legs after my last visit. You wouldn't believe how many gold dragons it took to ship that much cargo to a place hardly anyone in the realm has ever heard of."
The princess took another sip of tea. "You should at least try and be a little nicer. You could learn a lot from Princess Twilight."
"Princess?" Tyrion shot up. "The purple one? Last I saw her she was hardly as big as me."
"They grow fast, Tyrion." Celly refilled her cup from a pitcher nearby. "You hardly ever visit, and its always a surprise when you do. Why, if we knew you were coming beforehoof I would have made proper arrangements for your arrival." She gestured her glass to the dwarf, flicking him a knowing smile. "You really came at the right time, old friend."
Tyrion would have blushed at the compliment if it weren't for the wine already doing its work. "You do me a kindness, Celly. Truly. And I promise that when I find a raven that can make a two-week flight across open ocean, I'll let you know when I'm coming." The door behind Tyrion swung open and Filler Up stepped in, floating him another two flasks of spiced wine before taking his leave with an approving nod from the princess. "But I do apologize for stepping in unannounced," he continued, uncorking a bottle with his teeth. "You looked to have your hands full with court today, and the dragons and hydras that frequent these lands give your subjects enough trouble without having to prepare a feast for lowly old me."
Celly laughed; not to his joke, no, but more of a braying laughter that one would make at a fool. "Tyrion, you shouldn't think so lowly of yourself. And you came at a perfect time, trust me. Every day I have to hear the commonponies bickering and quarreling over this patch of grass here, or this booth being permitted there but that gets in the way of somepony's else's breathing space over there . . . It sometimes gets a little overbearing, and your coming has certainly given me excuse to attend to more 'important' matters."
Tyrion withdrew from his flask after a long intake of wine. He wiped his mouth with his sleeve, uncaring if the wine may or may not have stained his crimson tunic. "You'd be surprised to know that-" he raised a finger to belch, "-augh, to know that King Robert's schedule runs parallel to yours. But unlike you, he doesn't care about public image and just shits and fucks and drinks and hunts whenever he pleases. Much to my sister's disdain." He snickered evilly before taking another drink of spice wine. When he withdrew, his breath was beginning to reek of the stuff. "You'd do well in Westeros, princess. You do a fine job at keeping the peace, here, as far as I can see. Heh, you should be the one sitting the Iron Throne."
"Your horror stories from across the sea have given me my fill, Lord Tyrion. I'd be more inclined to let you stay here."
"My place is there, Celly." Tyrion's eyes gazed upon her slippers, and for a moment, may have flickered a hint of desire. "You have my thanks, but I can't bear the thought of leaving all those whores without me to warm their beds."
For several long minutes, the two friends sat in silence until Tyrion said, "I still remember the first landing here like it was yesterday."
Celly blushed at the thought. "You're never going to live that down, are you?"
"Seven hells, you threw me in the dungeon!"
"You tried mounting a Royal Guardspony, half drunk!" she laughed.
"No! No, not that. To this day, I'm still debating as to whether or not that was a proper dungeon."
"Oh, here we go . . . "
"You could really learn a lot from my people, Celly," he assured, pointing with his flask-filled hand. "Prisoners shouldn't get three course meals and plenty of daylight as if they were just sent to their rooms for snatching a lemon cake from the kitchens. I say mount some heads above the gate; get the message across."
Celly shuddered at just the thought of a dungeon without sunlight. "Your people are barbaric, Tyrion. Did you know that?"
"More than you know," he replied dryly.
"So . . ." said the princess, sipping loudly from her own beverage, "how is your family?"
It may have been the dim lighting of the room, but to Celly Tyrion's face twitched at the thought. "The same as ever," he replied, abrupt and rather curtly. "Cersei is queen and miserable, my loving nieces and nephews I hardly get to see and my lord father is as much a prick as he's ever been. Jaime and I went fishing a few moons ago, however."
Celly shifted in her seat. "Have you . . . found a special somepony? A mate?"
Tyrion now looked away from her, his bulging brow furrowing even lower. "No. I did not." Not after what my father did to the last one. He bit down on the bottle of spiced wine and took a quick messy gulp.
Celly struggled to find the words to continue the conversation. Tyrion now spoke with an edge, a force, in his voice that gave the princess the impression that her previous statement rubbed him the wrong way. I should not have mentioned that. He's a troubled soul. "Tyrion," she started, drawing the dwarf's attention from the ashes in her fireplace, "do you mind if I ask you something a little personal?" Tyrion shrugged, taking two quick sips. I'll take that as a yes. "Are you still bothered when people call you 'Imp' or 'Halfman'?"
Tyrion ground his teeth and shot the princess a sullen glare. "Of course." A brooding silence fell upon the two, stomping out any mirth or energy that filled the room just seconds prior.
"I'm sorry, Tyrion. I should not have asked." The dwarf gave no reply, and instead took a long slobbery intake of his flask until it was depleted. Celestia bit her tongue, thinking fast to come up with something that would salvage the remains of their conversation. And before long the light bulb went off. "Tyrion, I want to tell you something that I told my sister the day she was brought back to me."
Wise words intrigued Tyrion like a moth to a flame; his eyes met Celestia's, showing the Lannister coldness that he rarely ever brought out but still held a flicker of interest.
"On the night she returned to this castle after being gone for a thousand years, Luna came to me in my chambers. She was crying, I could tell. When I asked what was wrong, she asked what if some ponies still thought of her as Nightmare Moon. And I wrapped her up in my wings and told her that the world may never forget what she was, and so she shouldn't either. History surely won't. I told her to wear it like a suit of armor, and then it could never be used to hurt her."
Tyrion looked away again, thoughtfully staring into the deep scarlet of the princess's bedding. Moments later the emptied flask slipped from his fingers and his cockeyed gaze returned to meet Celestia's once more. "I apologize for that, princess. It's the drink that sometimes brings out the worst of me."
"It's understandable, old friend." She winked as she uncorked his second flask and floated it over to him. He grinned that wicked-Tyrion Lannister grin and snatched it from the air. "So what are your plans?" she asked. "You didn't seem fairly excited when mentioning them before."
Tyrion didn't answer right away; he instead took a minute to rub his sweating forehead and set his spiced wine on the floor, untouched. "Well, old Jon Arryn has passed away recently and King Robert is looking to make his old friend Lord Eddard Stark the new Hand."
Whether or not Celestia understood what any of that meant, her mastery of facial expressions have yet to betray her. "And you have to go?"
"It's expected of me," he said flatly. "The company is setting out from King's Landing tomorrow, and I told my brother I'd meet them north of the Neck on the Kingsroad. And then . . . Winterfell."
"It can't be that bad," said the princess, doubtful.
"Bad? No, not bad." For a moment, Tyrion actually sounded confused about her choice of words. But only a moment. "Just really, sort of terrible. It's cold, grey, and those Northmen hold their honor so high you'd think that's what they pray to under those grotesque weirwoods. 'Winter is coming', they always prattle. 'Winter is really coming. I know we were wrong last year, and the year before that, but winter is upon us. Truly.' I'll just say that the snow offers more enjoyable company than the Starks of Winterfell."
Now it was Celly's turn to soak in his words, until finally she said, "Well, Tyrion, I can't say what your future holds for sure, but who knows? Perhaps this trip is the beginning of an adventure like no other. It could very well change your life forever."
Tyrion snickered into his palm. "The Starks? Adventure? The biggest adventures in the North start and end at the Wall. I've been meaning to visit there. Perhaps I will while I'm there. But no, jesting aside I don't think anything of interest outside of a little snowfall will happen at Winterfell. I suppose I'm glad Robert will be there to put on a show that will utterly and totally humiliate my sweet sister Cersei."
"You should learn to love your sister~" sang the princess.
"When I'm dead~" he sang back.
Princess Celestia laughed out loud and rose her glass. "To sisters, and to being such good friends for twenty-two years to the day, Tyrion Lannister. Happy birthday."
The Imp rose his bottle to meet her's, resonating in a glassy-twang. "My thanks, Celly." He offered her a weary smile. "This has been quite the enjoyable nameday." Now I just need something with a hole and standing on two legs and it'll all be complete. Tyrion Lannister cracked a smile at the inside joke and Celestia mirrored the notion, firmly aware of whatever perverted thoughts he was thinking.