A tiny, well-kept bungalow in Ponyville, at dawn:
Early morning light slanting across her closed eyelids, Marigold stirred in her sleep and reluctantly slouched towards wakefulness. Another day, she sighed.
“No!” she exclaimed, sitting up. “Not just another day. Another day in Ponyville! Yay, Ponyville! Yay, me! Go, go, Marigold!”
Marigold threw back the covers and leapt from her bed. Her hip creaked a bit, but she pulled herself up, stretched, and stood proud.
“Marigold,” she said to the empty room. “You are awesome! You will seize this day and make it your own!”
She stood for a moment, breathing deeply, reaching for her center, then opened her spirit as a blossom greets the sun.
“You are as young as you feel!” she affirmed, cheerfully pulling on her robe and striding towards the bathroom, limping just a little.
Flush. Shower. Brush. Gargle. Spit. The heavy garment of sleep fell from her and she felt fresh, renewed! “Every day is a new day. Every day is a gift,” she explained to her reflection in the bathroom mirror.
Marigold brushed her mane out. She had been told, as a filly, that one hundred strokes were required for a healthy mane. But who had time for that these days? she wondered. Fifty… wait, no, sixty should be fine… well, seventy-five wouldn’t hurt… well, okay today one hundred. When she was done, Marigold’s mane flowed like liquid silver.
Looking at the results she was mostly pleased. But oh, those wicked roots, darn them! Her original color was starting to show again. Another weekend with that horribly smelly hair dye. Oh well. She had just been planning to stay in this weekend anyway, reading a book. Might as well put in a little time in personal mane-tenance, ha ha! A stay-cation from the world! Lucky me!
Oh, Celestia and Luna! I hope my tail is okay! Marigold looked back at her dock. Still silver. Well, better safe than sorry; might as well “update” my tail, too.
When her hair color had started to turn and the first streaks of gray emerged, she had been dismayed. But one of her friends down at city hall had told her that the gray streaks gave her a certain gravitas. Which, of course, sounded horrible, since Marigold thought that it made her look fat. But it turned out that gravitas just meant that she looked dignified and important. And, wow, that was great!
“I am a Very Important Pony in the best Very Best Place in Equestria!” she reminded her reflection. “Go, go, Marigold!”
Breakfast. “The most important meal of the day,” she told herself, as she heated the tea kettle and buttered a muffin.
She sat quietly by the kitchen window as she ate. Years ago, she had started the day by burying herself in the day’s news, trying to get a jump on whatever crisis awaited her at the office. But look at her now! Calm, composed, Marigold savored these early moments of the day, this precious me-time that energized her for the day ahead.
“Today,” she reminded herself, “whatever problem presents itself, I am the solution.”
Outside her kitchen window, there was an old plum tree that she loved. It didn’t produce much fruit, and most of that was eaten by the little birds, but the tree was strong and tough. And, as old as it was, it was still graceful. And so pretty in spring, with all the tiny white blossoms!
“Bless you,” Marigold said quietly, as she looked out her tiny window. “Bless you, dear old plum tree!”
Her muffin gone and her teacup empty, Marigold rose from her tiny kitchen table, meticulously washed, rinsed and dried her cup and plate, then turned towards her dresser.
“Let’s look our best today, Marigold!” she told herself, walking to her closet.
Most ponies would tell you that dressing for the day was no big deal. We don’t usually wear clothes, they’d say. But Marigold knew better. Dressage was not a matter of style or fashion or something trivial like that. Dressage was making a statement. Today, this is who I am. Deal with me!
If someone disses your clothes, give ‘em the hose! Iron Will had told her. Good advice, Marigold thought, nodding. Although, for her, “give ‘em the hose” meant “raise an eyebrow.” But, it wasn’t the action that was important, it was the intent.
Marigold put on her stiff, high collar and selected a lovely teal tie for the day. “’Teal’,” she pondered, as she fluffed out her tie. “Teal. Seal. Meal. Glockenspiel. Real deal! Yes! Today, I’m the real deal! Ha ha!”
She put on her glasses. Marigold did not actually need glasses. Or, at least, she did not need them in the conventional sense.
Marigold did not need glasses to see. Rather, she needed them to be seen. She needed to be seen wearing them because, once upon a time, somepony had told her that glasses made her look “intellectual.”
And intellectual means smart and I am smart, she nodded.
Marigold stood at her front door, giving herself a last-minute inspection before she stepped out into the world.
Years and years ago, when she was still a young filly, she had made a crown out of construction paper and glitter. Such a silly thing: yellow paper cut into sharp angles, gold sparkles scattered over too much paste. The art of a child. The dream of a child.
And yet there it was, after so many years, taped over her hall mirror. The glitter was mostly gone, the paper torn and faded.
This morning, Marigold sighed. But still she straightened before the mirror, so that her reflection wore the crown.
“Today”, she announced confidently, “I will be a Princess!”
Ponyville City Hall, in the early morning hours:
Fletcher Veterinary examined the scroll before him. Although the text was clear and plainly legible, the unicorn squinted. His black eyebrows suggested the message, what is this ridiculous thing before me?
“You realize, of course,” pronounced Fletcher, at last, slowly, “that this business application is nonsense?”
The bright yellow Earth Pony standing before Fletcher’s desk fussed with his straw hat a bit and said, “Yes?” in a manner that suggested that nonsense was perhaps a hopeful sign.
Fletcher suppressed a sigh. Patience, he cautioned himself.
He continued, with calm deliberation. “Your name, goodpony, is Lemon Squash. Is that correct?”
“Oh, yes sir, that’s me, Lemon Squash,” nodded the stallion, agreeably. “‘Squash by name, squash by nature’, as they say.”
Fletcher’s heavy eyebrows twitched. “And who, in Equestria, says that, I wonder.”
“Wull,” said Mr. Squash. “They say. Them. You know. Clever folk.”
“Do you know any ‘clever folk’, Mr. Squash?” asked Fletcher.
Lemon Squash shuffled a bit. “I know you, sir,” he said, with a shy smile.
“Touché,” said Fletcher, dryly. He frowned at Lemon Squash’s application for a Ponyville Merchant Cart License.
“This… ‘concoction’ that you propose selling to the good citizens of Ponyville,” said Fletcher, the quotes implicit in his tone, “is also called ‘Lemon Squash.’”
“Yes, sir. S’good name, innit?” said Lemon Squash, proudly. “No one else has it, right? S’my name! So I’m first on the market with it! ‘First mover advantage,’ they calls it, in them business magazines!”
“Quite,” said Fletcher. “Still, there may be a reason that nopony has selected this particular product name before, don’t you think? I mean, what does one associate with the word, squash? Have you sat upon these lemons, I wonder? Or cast them to the ground from a great height? Squash is less a name than a sound effect, I think.”
“Oh, no sir!” exclaimed Lemon Squash indignantly. “The squash is a noble plant, a fruit to rival the magnificent cornstalk or the climbing bean! From ancient days, ponies have thrived thanks to the proud yet humble squash!”
“Well said, goodpony. However,” persisted Fletcher, “there is no actual squash in your ‘Lemon Squash.’ Is that correct?”
The pony shuffled his hooves a bit. “No, sir. No. Not squash as such. No.”
“Is there lemon, at least?” Fletcher asked, delicately clinging to a spark of hope in ponykind.
“Oh, yes, sir!” exclaimed Lemon Squash, beaming. “Only the finest lemon juice!”
“Concentrate?” inquired Fletcher.
“Absolutely! Every batch has me full and complete attention! No distractions! No, sir!”
Fletcher Veterinary looked down his long nose at Lemon Squash. Ponies, in general, have long noses. But when Fletcher Veterinary cast his gaze down, it was in for a bit of a hike.
Fletcher, at last, continued, “So this ‘beverage’ of yours is lemon juice, sugar and water, is that correct?”
“Sparkling water, sir, if you please,” insisted Lemon Squash. “The finest, fizziest sparkling water in all of Equestria.”
“So your ‘Lemon Squash’ is merely carbonated lemonade, yes?”
“Wull,” said Mr. Squash, thoughtfully. “Champagne is just bubbly grape juice, innit?”
Fletcher Veterinary considered. At last he said, “You have a point.”
Lemon Squash grinned.
Love and tolerance, Fletcher reminded himself, grimly. Love and tolerance to the death!
Fletcher harumphed. “Very well then, Mr. Squash. Since your ‘product’ is unlikely to actively harm our citizens, I must approve your business application.”
Fletcher’s horn willed the pen to the inkwell and thence to the scroll. He paused, eyebrows arched alarmingly.
“This cart permit is good for one year. 15 bits, renewable annually,” he said.
“Yes, sir,” said Lemon Squash. He presented the fee. Fletcher counted it, then set it aside.
“Your cart will not have a place in the central market, I’m afraid. For safety reasons, the number of permits there are limited. Otherwise, you are free to position your wares as you will. I suggest a position near the schoolhouse. Innocent, suggestible children would be your likeliest market, I think. And, please, pick up a copy of our educational pamphlet, Putting the Cart Before the Horse, on your way out.”
Fletcher signed the scroll.
“Thank you, sir,” said Lemon Squash, bowing. “This is a great day for me. And a great day for Ponyville.”
“Indeed,” said Fletcher, extending the scroll. “All of Ponyville will rejoice to the easy availability of fizzy lemonade.”
“Yes, sir,” said Lemon Squash, collecting his permit and putting his straw hat on. “A great day!”
Fletcher Veterinary put away his pen. “Thank you, citizen. Good day,” he said, sweeping the bits into his petty cash drawer.
Ponyville market place:
“Good morning!” Marigold cried to Mrs. Cake. “Isn’t it a lovely day?”
It was a lovely day, Marigold thought, as she crossed the Ponyville market place. Celestia’s Sun, beaming in the sky, all’s well with the world. Go, go, Marigold! She told herself. Make today your own!
Mrs. Cake, who had been up and about her business since two hours before dawn, as busy as a one-winged parasprite, looked at Marigold said, “Oh, yah! Yes! Lovely… oh! Pumpkin! Take that out of your mouth this instant!”
“Nom! Nom!” exclaimed Pumpkin Cake, the baby unicorn, around the edges of a large wooden tray.
“Hehe! Woo!” gurgled Pound Cake. The baby pegasus tumbled through the air past his twin sister, bumped into Mrs. Cake and clung to her, sighing, “Mom! Mom!”
“Oh, gracious, you two!” said Cup Cake, gathering up her children into a hug. “Say hello to this nice lady!”
“Ah! Ah-AH-ahhh!” declared Pumpkin Cake, smiling.
“Rowlrbazzle! Thribbit!” insisted Pound Cake, burping.
So precious. I will never have children of my own, thought Marigold, tears starting in her eyes. She dismissed the thought quickly and smiled. “Good morning, children,” she said, brightly.
“Ah-ah!” said Pumpkin Cake, grinning.
“Rugglebuggle! Hoo!” said Pound Cake, drifting away from his mother to shyly brush up against Marigold. “Haha! Blarp!”
“Pound Cake,” warned Mrs. Cake. “You come back here, Little Wing! Don’t go bothering everypony!”
It’s fine, Mrs. Cake, Marigold thought. It’s wonderful. But she held her tongue as the little pegasus drifted back towards his mother.
“Rascals,” said Mrs. Cake, looking fondly at her children. Remembering Marigold, she looked up. “I’m sorry, dearie. Was there something I could do for you…?”
“Oh no, Mrs. Cake,” assured Marigold. “I’m fine. I just wanted to say good morning to you all.” Such a lovely family, she thought.
Marigold continued on her way, limping a bit.
Ponyville City Hall:
The door to Fletcher’s office cracked open slowly. A minute or so later, the space between door and frame had widened enough to strike the little bell above the entrance.
Fletcher Veterinary calmly ordered the papers on his desk, replaced his writing quill and sat up straight.
“Ah! Mrs. Smith. Good morning,” he greeted.
Granny Smith, an ancient Earth Pony, green of coat and white of mane, worked her way into Fletcher’s office.
She’s only using the cane today, thought Fletcher, smiling inwardly. Her hip must be better.
Fletcher knew, from past experience, not to offer Granny Smith assistance. Instead, he raised his voice and asked, blandly, “How kind of you to grace this office today, Mrs. Smith. Might I tempt you with a cup of tea?”
“Whazzat? A cuppa tea? Well, mebbe,” allowed Granny Smith, as she inched her way into Fletcher’s office. “Watcha got in tha’ pot?”
Fletcher rose to greet her. “I thought, this morning, a bit of sweet licorice would be pleasant.”
Granny Smith’s eyes lit up. “Oh. Tha’ good stuff.”
“Well, it was cold this morning, and I felt a need to indulge,” dissembled Fletcher. When he entered the office this morning, he had noted the day and had, at once, prepared for Granny Smith’s appearance. He knew she enjoyed sweet licorice tea. “May I pour you a cup?”
“Well, since you’re standin’, why not?” asked Granny Smith.
Fletcher busied himself preparing two steaming cups as Granny Smith eased herself towards his desk. Earlier, Fletcher had placed a raised cushion close to his desk. Now, Granny Smith positioned herself above this and gratefully dropped herself onto it.
“Whew!” Granny Smith exclaimed as she settled herself. “Bit of a walk, gettin’ here,” she said.
She has been walking here since before sunrise, calculated Fletcher. Any of her grandchildren could have made the same journey in a fraction of the time. Am I a bad pony, he wondered, to be gladdened to see her this morn?
Fletcher placed a cup before Granny Smith. The elderly pony lifted it, drank a bit, and set the cup down, smacking her lips. “Mmm! Good stuff!” she said.
“Well now,” said Granny Smith, getting down to business. “I’m here to settle accounts! The Sweet Apple Acres Merchant License! Here ya’ go!”
Granny Smith spilled the contents of her coin purse on Fletcher’s desk. Three gold solars, fourteen silver lunars and two dozen copper bits.
Fletcher counted out three copper bits and set them aside.
“That ain’t right!” said Granny Smith. “15 bits a year! That’s the right price, that’s what I heerd! Don’t think you can fool me, you whippersnapper.”
“Ah, my mistake. Thank you for your correction, Madam,” said Fletcher, drawing 12 more bits across his desk. “You are most honest, Mrs. Smith.”
“Darn tootin’!” exclaimed Granny Smith, thumping her cane.
“Still…,” said Fletcher. “There is still the matter of the Founder’s Fee.” He carefully counted out 12 bits and pushed them back towards Granny Smith.
“A fee gratefully given to the noble founders of this fair community,” he explained. “Without whom, none of this,” Fletcher waved his hoof, “would have been possible.”
Granny Smith looked suspiciously at the pile of bits.
“Are you trickin’ me, Fletcher Vetin’ry?” asked Mrs. Smith, waving her cane. “I knowed you when you were a little ’un. Don’t lie to your Granny Smith!”
Fletcher Veterinary folded his hooves. “Madam, everypony in Ponyville owes you this and more,” he assured her. “You would insult us and all that we have built, if you did not accept this tiny gratuity.”
Granny Smith glared at the pile of bits. Eventually, she declared, “Well… darn it! I don’t wanna upset everypony! We’re good city-zens here, in Sweet Apple Acres! Don’t tell no one we’re not!”
“Madam,” Fletcher Veterinary said, quietly, “I cannot imagine that anypony would ever question the integrity of Sweet Apple Acres, its family, or its fruit.”
Granny Smith scooped the bits into her coin purse. “Well, mebbe,” she said, grudgingly.
Fletcher Veterinary smiled. Inwardly.
Ponyville plaza:
“Whoops!”
Marigold looked up, then stepped back quickly. Derpy Hooves was the kindest, sweetest pegasus pony in Equestria, but her navigational skills were a bit lacking.
Derpy landed with a dusty phlumph. She shook her blonde head, smiled, then looked around until she spotted Marigold.
“Oh! Hay! Good morning!” Derpy said. “It’s still morning, right? Yes? Okay!”
Derpy, you precious soul, thought Marigold. She helped Derpy up onto her four hooves and brushed her off. “Good morning, Derpy. How are you, today?”
“I had oatmeal this morning,” exclaimed Derpy Hooves. “Oatmeal with a little butter and maple syrup! Wow! Oatmeal is the best!” Derpy hugged herself with the memory of breakfast.
Marigold and Derpy stood together, for a moment, in the gathering light of a brilliant Equestria morning, contemplating the glory of warm oatmeal with a little butter and syrup.
“So, Derpy,” nudged Marigold, at last. “Do you have any messages for me?”
“Whut? Hay! Of course! I think,” Derpy said. She rummaged through her messenger bags and brought up a thick envelope. “This is for you.”
The envelope had a thick red band around it. Messages from Canterlot. Top priority. Oh, dear. Marigold accepted the parcel.
“Thank you, Derpy,” Marigold said. “You are a good pony.”
“Woo! Thanks!” exclaimed Derpy, beaming. “You are a good pony, too!”
Derpy pulled her bags onto her back and leapt into the air, hovering over Marigold. For a moment, Derpy’s eyes uncrossed.
“You know, you are better than you think you are,” said Derpy, smiling sweetly. Then she flew away, into the beautiful blue arch of the world.
Ponyville City Hall:
And then there was Bean Counter, standing before him.
“Good morning, Mr. Counter,” said Fletcher, reluctantly. Love and tolerance certainly, he thought. But surely there are limits?
Bean Counter was, perhaps, the most elegantly arrayed Earth Pony in Ponyville. His current ensemble echoed the sleek smartness of Fancy Pants, if Fancy Pants limited his color palette to shades of gray and drab. His cologne carried the scents of gold, silver and copper; he literally smelled of money.
“Morning it is,” sniffed Bean Counter, adjusting his pince-nez. “But: good? Well, let us see, Fletcher, let us see.”
Bean Counter wore two stiff, hide-bound cases in place of saddlebags. He opened one and withdrew a flutter of documents that he tossed upon Fletcher’s desk.
“Ah,” said Fletcher Veterinary. “Mr. Rich’s watermill application. Again.”
“Yes, again. And again and again!” exclaimed Bean Counter. “Mr. Rich’s desires are quite plain. He has conformed to every silly law and ridiculous regulation that you have thrown against him, but still his application is denied! How does the Mayor explain this… this absurd obstruction?”
Fletcher harumphed. “Madam Mayor has not had the opportunity to review these documents, as you well understand. I have not yet brought them to her attention.”
“And why not?” demanded Bean Counter, glaring.
“Because they are horrible,” said Fletcher, calmly.
“As I’ve explained previously,” he continued, slowly, inexorably. “The Royal Pony Corps of Engineers have surveyed the Ponyville river and have determined that the diversion required by Mr. Rich’s proposed watermill would result in both upstream and downstream agricultural disruptions that would more than offset the economic gains of the proposed watermill.
“Further, let us consider the structure itself. This is not a pleasant picturesque mill with a splashing waterwheel and a cheerful green pond happily occupied by fluttering ducks and the occasional swan. No! This is a three-story monstrosity that would tower over almost every other structure in Ponyville. It is a gray, slab-sided thing that would dampen the spirits of every creature that looks upon it. I hesitate to imagine the effect on the poor souls damned to toil within it.
“And how, pray tell, shall this small community feed this beast? Given the extraordinary capacity of its grinding gears, it would devour the full production of Ponyville, grain, fruit and vegetable, in a matter of weeks. Would it stand idle for half the year, then? Would it go hungry? No, no, I think not. I imagine that you plan to drain the agricultural product of all the lands around Ponyville into the hungry maw of this monster, spinning corn, carrots and apples into gold for your pocket. You are not merely proposing a simple mill, but, by implication, a vast infrastructure of roads, trains, ships, silos and warehouses.
“Ponyville would become, in the end, not a town of ponies, but the sad appendage of this… atrocity that Mr. Rich proposes to construct.
“You will harm us with this, Mr. Counter. With this proposal, you will destroy Ponyville and make it into something abhorrent. And not out of simple hunger, as a parasprite would, or out of mindless rage, like a manticore. But out of cruel, deliberate, calculating avarice, as a devouring dragon.
“I do not care to live in the shadow of this dark, draconic mill.
“And, so, as Ponyville’s defender, I must deny Mr. Rich’s application. Again.” Fletcher pushed the pile of papers back towards Bean Counter, folding his hooves.
Bean Counter gaped, slack-jawed. His face flushed a cherry tint that contrasted nicely with the dull gray of his suit.
“You dare! You dare, sir,” choked Bean Counter. “You dare to defy the wishes of the most important pony in Ponyville?”
Fletcher Veterinary sat back on his haunches and blinked. “Ah! I perceive your error. You believe that Mr. Filthy Rich, due his great wealth, is more important than any other pony in Ponyville.
“I have nothing but respect for Mr. Rich,” said Fletcher. “I knew his father. He believed in Ponyville, and contributed to its growth. The current Mr. Rich, I think, likewise believes in this town and its folk, and has assisted in their prosperity.”
Fletcher Veterinary leaned forward, his eyes glowing. “But, understand this, sir,” he said. “The smallest, poorest, weakest pony in Ponyville possesses the same worth, the same ‘importance’ as Mr. Rich. In the eyes of the law, sir, in the eyes of good governance, in the eyes of justice and mercy, he is co-equal with the kindly matron that provides me with my morning muffin and the dedicated messenger that delivers my mail. And with Madam Mayor, who will, ultimately, rule on this application.
“Princess Celestia’s Sun shines upon all ponies, the good and the less-so. Princess Luna’s Moon and Stars comfort us all in the night, when the dark fears enter our hearts. We are all treasured in their eyes.
“Who are you, sir, to question their wisdom?
“Where were you, sir, when Equestria was made?”
Bean Counter opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened it again. Closed it again. Then shook his head as he collected his papers.
“You haven’t heard the last of this,” Bean Counter hissed, as he turned away. “Not by a long chalk. Mr. Rich will have words, sir. Strong words. In the right places. And I will be back.”
“And I will be here, sir,” assured Fletcher Veterinary. “Good day, citizen.”
Ponyville City Hall:
“Good morning, Fletcher!” said Marigold brightly.
“Madam Mayor,” acknowledged Fletcher Veterinary, briefly glancing up. “There is licorice tea, if you would care for a cup.” Fletcher returned to his paperwork.
Oh, poor Fletcher, Marigold thought. First to arrive every morning, and the last to leave. And what do I have to offer him, but more work?
“We received these letters from Canterlot,” Marigold said, producing the packet with the red band.
“Ah. You may leave them with me, Madam Mayor. I will deal them presently,” Fletcher said, without looking up.
Marigold placed the packet on Fletcher’s desk. She trotted over to the teapot, which smelled wonderful. She poured herself a cup. Oh my, licorice! she thought, delightedly. Every day brings unexpected gifts, she reminded herself. Go, go, Marigold!
Sipping her tea, Marigold regarded Fletcher Veterinary thoughtfully. There was a question she had meant to ask him for years, but Marigold had held herself back. It’s too personal, she told herself.
If you have a doubt, punch it out! Iron Will had said. Go, go, Marigold! she thought.
“Fletcher, may I ask you a personal question?” Marigold said hesitantly.
“You may ask me anything, Madam Mayor,” he said, without looking up. “How may I assist you?”
“Your cutie mark. I’m sorry, this is so embarrassing. But, your cutie mark appears to be a quill poised near a red heart.”
Fletcher Veterinary paused and turned to her. “Yes, this is so, Madam Mayor.”
Marigold sipped her tea again. She said, “I would have thought, from your cutie mark, that you would become a doctor or a pharmacist. I thought you would become someone who takes care of ponies.”
Fletcher Veterinary glanced down, then up. “In my small way, I do, Madam Mayor,” he said.
Fletcher Veterinary turned back to his books, as his Princess sipped her tea.
Ponyville City Hall:
“How has business been, this morning?” asked Madam Mayor, over her tea. “Did anypony fun or interesting come by?”
I have work to do! Why does she start…? Oh, never mind! thought Fletcher.
“There were one or two bits of business, before you arrived, Madam,” Fletcher Veterinary calmly admitted. “Mrs. Smith was here, to renew the Merchant License for Sweet Apple Acres.”
“Oh, pooh!” said Madam Mayor. Pooh! was about as harsh as her language ever became. Fletcher, over the years, had come to hear her offer a gosh! and a darn! and even, in extremity, a shucks! The latter, to be sure, had been prompted by the recent, brief reign of Discord, who had flooded Madam Mayor’s bungalow with chocolate-mint pudding. Shucks! was, perhaps, not too strong a word to offer the Lord of Chaos, Fletcher thought.
“I’m so sorry I missed her,” Madam Mayor continued. “She is such a sweet old girl. A strong soul! You are as young as you feel!”
“Unquestionably,” said Fletcher, blandly. “Possibly, you might be able to catch her. I imagine she hasn’t gotten far.” Fletcher had offered to hail a cab for Granny Smith, but she had loudly dismissed the idea: Wheels! Carnsarned modern doohickies! Jus’ keep goin’ around and around…!
Madam Mayor swirled her teacup in reflection. “Dear Granny Smith,” she mused. “A First Founder. Perhaps, perhaps we could do a combination Summer Sun/Founder’s Day Celebration this year,” she said, thoughtfully. “Last year’s celebration was… hectic. Maybe a grand old down-home Midsummer Festival would be the best thing to raise the spirits of everypony.
“Hmmm! Well, what would we need?” Madam Mayor pondered aloud. “Music! A band! Yes! Brass and pipes, fiddles and drums, and… dancing! Ha ha! Dancing under the New Sun! Oh! I know a buck dancer or two! An exhibition… or a competition!”
How in Luna and Celestia’s names does she do that? marveled Fletcher. That sounds like a fine idea! Here, I thought everypony would feel sad and a bit lost after the fracas that surrounded the previous Summer Sun Celebration. Nightmare Moon! The Long Night! The fear! I imagined that this year’s Summer Sun Celebration would be a sad, somber affair, shrouded in dark reflection. I had planned to stay in and read an improving book. But she…!
“Contests! Maybe… what?” Madam Mayor frowned in concentration. “Hmmm. Talk to Applejack… a community social! A tug-of-war for Earth Ponies, a race for Pegasus Ponies… No! Mix it up! A cooking contest for Unicorn Ponies! A storytelling contest for Earth Ponies! And a musical competition for Pegasus Ponies!” She laughed.
Okay, she’s going now, thought Fletcher. He sat back on his haunches, sipped his cold licorice tea, and paid close attention, willing his pen before him, scribbling furiously.
“Fruit, vegetables and grain,” Madam Mayor continued. “The agricultural heart of Ponyville! Pies and cakes and confections! Will Pinkie Pie help? Of course she will, bless her pure soul. Would the Cakes and that lovely fellow from the cafe judge the cooking contest? I think so, yes! Oh! The Twins! Let me think…
“Face-painting and dress-up for the children. Talk to Rarity and Cheerilee…. Hah! Pets! A pet parade, for young and old! Surely, Fluttershy will help, she’s so good with animals….
“Hay rides. Oh, I know that Big Macintosh and those big, handsome teamster ponies would be willing to lend a hoof!”
Madam Mayor blinked. “Oh, my. Those big teamster ponies and those muscular train stallions! Wouldn’t that be a sight to see, parading down Mane Street!” She looked wistfully into the distance for awhile, then shook herself.
Madam Mayor gazed at the ceiling in rapture. “And the sky! The night sky! Perhaps Rainbow Dash and her wonderful Weather Team can arrange a perfect evening? A warm summer night, cloudless, the sky ablaze with the glory of Luna’s Stars! Let us greet Her without fear, for the first time in a thousand years! Surely, that is worth a song!”
Madam Mayor gasped. “A song! A community sing-a-long! We shall all gather together under Luna’s sky in the town square and sing!”
Madam Mayor then emitted a sound that Fletcher dutifully noted as Squee!
As Madam Mayor paused for breath, Fletcher observed, almost to himself, “Hmmm! Commendable.” He completed his notes. “Were you perhaps, considering inviting either of the Princesses to this event?”
Madam Mayor started. “What? No. Oh, no. I’m sure that they are far too busy to concern themselves with our little celebration.”
“They have both visited Ponyville before, and on more than one occasion,” reminded Fletcher.
Madam Mayor looked down. “True. Still, they must both have more important matters to attend to. We are just little ponies, after all. Down here in the shadow of Canterlot.”
“Even so,” continued Fletcher. “It would be good politics, I think, to notify Their Majesties of our festival. Even if Princess Luna does not attend, I am certain that She would find the announcement of our celebration, of our citizens singing happily, under Her sky… most encouraging.”
Madam Mayor pawed the floor, nervously. “If you think so, Fletcher,” she said, at last. “You understand everypony far better than I do.”
Fletcher sat back on his haunches and blinked. How in the name of the Princesses can you think that, Madam Mayor? he wondered.
Fletcher Veterinary harumphed and drew out a fresh scroll. “Dear Princesses Celestia and Luna,” he began.
Is Spike about, I wonder? Perhaps this letter should be… expedited.
THE UNICORN COOKING CONTEST
The Ponyville Library, the morning of the competition:
“SPIKE!”
Spike awoke to the warm, comforting smell of smoke. Mommy? he wondered. Then rolled over and returned to sleep.
“SPIKE!”
Spike stirred, again. You’re not Mommy, he thought, blearily. You’re (my sister) Twilight?!
Mmmm, smoke. Sweet! Wait…! Library! Paper! Smoke! Fire! Twilight! Not my fault!
Spike leapt out of his basket. Black clouds billowed up the staircase into the little room that he shared with Twilight Sparkle. Fire! Oh no! Must act now! Must act quickly!
Still, Spike thought, pausing at the head of the stairs, inhaling. This smoke smells pretty good.
“SPIIIIIKE!”
Spike bounded down the stairs.
The Ponyville Library was just that, a library. Built inside the green, growing interior of a towering Tree of Knowledge, the shelves groaned with weighty tomes. Classics like Hurricane’s Apologia (Sorry about the Windigoes, Dudes) and Puddinghead’s twelve-volume Stuff I Did, So There shared space with the slender Supernaturals: Natural Remedies and Cure-Alls and the bold Daring Do and the Quest for the Sapphire Stone.
The memory and spirit of Equestria, enshrined in paper for all time. Safe and secure.
Until somepony decided to bake cookies.
Spike discovered Twilight Sparkle in the library’s tiny kitchenette, worrying over a pan of flaming… objects.
Spike supposed they must be cookies, being round, flat and black. He scooped one into his mouth. Mmmm! Carbon! Yum!
“Spike!” insisted Twilight. “Don’t eat them! Help me put them out!”
“But the flames are the best part,” Spike protested, filching another cookie. Delish.
Still, ponies. What can you do? Spike, immune to the heat and fire, gently moved Twilight’s delicious bricks from the tray to the cooling rack.
Twilight stood over the cookies and cried.
“Oh, no! My Cinnamon-Swirl (the Bearded) cookies are ruined!” said Twilight Sparkle, dancing with anxiety.
“Actually, they’re pretty tasty,” said Spike, helping himself to a third cookie. “Cinnamon and charcoal! Not many cooks can get that balance right. And is there a hint of sulfur, too? Exquisite! Yum!” He treated himself to a fourth cookie.
“Why did this happen?!” exclaimed Twilight Sparkle. “The spell said, ’360 degrees, for 30 minutes.’ And I spun in a circle, 360 degrees, for half of an hour! And this is what came out!”
Spike paused. “And, the oven, the temperature was… what?”
“High!” wailed Twilight. “Naturally, I wanted the cookies to rise high, to be their best! But look at them! So black and tiny…!”
Spike suppressed a laugh with another cookie.
Twilight frowned. “Widdershins! I spun widdershins! Perhaps, instead, towards the Sun…?”
She shook her head in exasperation.
“How anypony can cook without a vacuum pump, liquid nitrogen and an interferometer, I don’t know,” said Twilight, miserably.
Spike rubbed her neck consolingly. Dearest (sister) Twilight! he thought, crunching another cookie.
THE EARTH PONY STORYTELLING CONTEST
Ponyville Town Square, Main Stage, the celebration, right after lunch:
Joshington Traveller Pie stepped onto the stage. The big, middle-aged Earth Pony, tan and brown, settled himself before the crowd.
“Hay, everypony!” he said.
HAY, JOSH! cried the crowd.
“I just want to say, I’m happy to be here, in Ponyville,” said Josh. “Hasn’t this been a great day?”
APPLAUSE!
“It’s wonderful to see all the princesses that have come from far and wide for our little celebration!”
The crowd looked around, grinning. Alicorn had more-or-less become the theme of the children’s dress-up. Paper wings and wax horns, each when necessary, were everywhere, on boys and girls alike. Even many of the adults wore elaborate alicorn costumes.
“Well, now, that reminds me of a story. You know, when I was younger, I ran away to join the circus…’
WE KNOW, WE KNOW, laughed the crowd.
“Okay, maybe I’ve told that story a few times before.”
LAUGHTER!
“Okay, more than a few times. Still, hush down, you smart ponies, and let me tell my tale.
“For the few of you who don’t know: when I was young, I ran away from my family, hoping to find something more than the tired old rock farm and the sad routine of my old life.
“The circus, bright and beautiful, full of glamor and danger, came to Ponyville once, in my childhood. And I was there, holding my cotton candy and looking on in awe. I could hardly eat, I smiled so much. It all just felt so good that I just wanted to keep on smiling forever. And I wanted everypony I knew to be just as happy, to smile, the way I had at the circus.
“The circus moved on. And I followed, desperately. I ran after it, because after I saw it, I couldn’t imagine life without the light, the color and the smiles of the circus.
“Mr. Rube, the ringmaster, well, he didn’t know what to think about me: a small, skinny colt with nothing to offer but an eager expression and a willingness to work.
“Although, now that I think on it, maybe he saw possibilities in me. Hay Rube was a pretty smart fellow. I like to imagine he saw something of himself in me. Certainly, the circus wouldn’t have taken me in if I wasn’t useful.
“I had left the rock farm because it was so much work. But in the circus….”
YOU WORKED HARDER THAN YOU HAD EVER WORKED BEFORE, shouted the crowd, laughing.
“Hehe. Like I said, I think I’ve told this story before. Yes, in the circus I was a roustabout and a go-fer. Go here! Go there! Do this, do that! I was paid nothing but a place to sleep and a bite of food, I was exhausted everyday, but I was happy because I was PART OF THE SHOW! The circus became my family. Not a bad deal, for the child that I was, then.
“In time, I learned to clown a bit. Even though I never had a proper clown ‘face’, I helped out the other fellows during their routines. Most of you know this, I suppose.
“But, have I told you about the Third Princess? No? Ha ha! Well, let me tell you…'
Josh drew himself into an exaggerated thespian pose. “When I was a youngster, I was a Princess.” He tossed his mane sensuously.
LAUGHTER!
“Oh, you laugh! But, I will have you know that, when I was a colt, I was slender and graceful, not the bulky, broad-shouldered fellow you see before you now. And Mr. Rube, he saw that with training I could be a passible Princess.
“Here, you up front. Toss me one of those apples. Thank you. And another: no, not another red one, a green this time. Thanks. Do we have any bananas? No? A yellow apple then. Okay!”
Josh juggled three apples, red, yellow and green. His hooves flashed, yet he appeared calm. Serene. Juggle, don’t struggle, he recalled. Juggling brought him home.
The crowd applauded, but Josh shrugged it off. “This? Oh, this is kid stuff. Three? Three is nothing. Or, just maybe, three is everything.
“See, when I joined the circus, Mr. Rube insisted that I learn to juggle. Keeping it all in the air, Josh, m’boy, he said to me. That’s what life’s about!
“So I learned to juggle. It was easy at first. Harder later. Hay, want to see a trick?”
YES!
“Okay, here.” Josh tossed an apple up, bouncing it against his forehead. He caught it, still juggling. And then he did it again, without breaking rhythm. And a third time.
APPLAUSE!
“Thank you. But tricks are not the point.
“When I was a colt, I was in this act: The Third Princess.
“I would come out, balancing on a ball. You know, like the Dancing Pony Fountain here in Ponyville town square. The Pony That Dances O’er the World! And I juggled. I was dressed all in glitter and lace, like a Princess. I was cute, if you can believe it.
“I looked pretty good, then. Heh.
“And I would tell the story of Equestria. Of how Princess Celestia, after all the years of Chaos, burdened herself with the rising and setting of the Sun.” Josh tossed the Red Apple up high, catching it behind his back. “The Princess of Light and Fire.
“And of how Princess Luna, who, although she loved us, dwelt apart, raising and lowering the Moon.” Josh snatched the Yellow Apple out of the air. One bite, two, three, until the Yellow Apple was a crescent, without missing a beat. “The Princess of Night and Mystery.
“Then, the terrible time came when the Two Princesses fought each other.” Josh tossed the apples past each other, back and forth, furiously, and the spheres seemed to battle. “And then… Princess Luna was gone.”
The Yellow Apple disappeared, somehow. Josh juggled the Red and the Green with a single hoof.
Okay, Josh, he reminded himself. Stand just so. Don’t turn your head. So they don’t see the apple tucked behind your ear.
“Sadly, the burden of the three worlds fell upon Princess Celestia.” The Yellow Apple appeared again, from nowhere. All three spheres, Red, Green, Yellow, kept aloft by a single hoof.
A good drop, m’boy! Well done. Josh could almost hear Mr. Rube’s voice, encouraging him.
Josh frowned with intense concentration. But this was just Josh selling the act. Really, three was kid stuff to him.
“For centuries, Princess Celestia carried the Sun and Moon. Only now, in our time, at last, is She relieved of the burden of the Moon and Stars, thanks to the return of our beloved Princess Luna.”
Okay, changeover. Let’s mix this up. The apples danced together, bouncing from hoof to hoof, joyously.
“But, always, always, there was the third orb. The Green World! And the Green World was heavy, so heavy. It was not made of hope and fire, like the Sun. Or of dream and mystery, like the Moon. No, the Green World was made of rock and water, life and death, hope and despair, love and tolerance. It was always too heavy for Princess Celestia to carry alone. It was always too large for Princess Luna to embrace. And so They turned to us, their little ponies, for help.”
Josh threw a cascade high in the air. He caught the Red and Yellow Apples, and then the Green. He held up the Green Apple to the crowd.
“The Green World is not Their burden. It is ours to carry, brothers and sisters, Earth Ponies, Pegasus Ponies and Unicorn Ponies. The World is what we, we, who love this world, make of it.
“You and I, my beloved brothers and sisters, here in Ponyville,” Josh cried. “We are the Third Princess! We are the Pony That Dances O’er The Green World! And we are Princess Equestria!”
WILD APPLAUSE!
Still got it, m’boy, said the voice of his memory.
Thanks, Mr. Rube, Josh replied, silently.
THE PEGASUS MUSICAL CONTEST
Ponyville Town Square, Main Stage, the celebration, late afternoon:
The little gray pegasus walked onto the stage. She coughed.
“Hay, everypony,” she said, shyly.
HAY, DERPY! called the crowd.
Tears started in her golden eyes. They all know me! They like me!
She looked to the edge of the stage. Her sister, Ditzy Doo, looked back. Go on! Ditzy motioned.
She brushed away the doubt from her eyes. She stood straight and tall, her wings spreading behind her.
“If it’s okay,” she began, quietly, “I’d like to sing a little song that my good friend Pinkie Pie helped me write. Ahem.”
The crowd became quiet. And listened. Then, brightly:
My name is Derpy Hooves (Ding-dong!)
And I am here to say, “It’s for you!”
I come to give you packages and parcels every day-aaay!
It doesn’t matter now (Oh no!)
If it is postage due (Heavy!)
‘Cause delivering my messages is just what Derpy’s here to do!
‘Cause I love to give you mail, mail, mail!
Yes I do
I’m couriering your favor as I sail
Yes I am
‘Cause you’re really waiting for some mail, mail, mail
From this trusty bag of mine!
*** tiny dance ***
I love to eat some muffins (Apple!)
I love to pound them down (Yummy!)
They give me the energy
I need to fly around (Wing-slap!)
Sometimes I’m in a hurry
And I’m flying upside-down
I won’t hesitate, I’ll tell you straight:
I don’t know what went wrong!
‘Cause I love deliverin’ (-in’, -in’)
Yes I do
Adverts and some circulars (In the waste bin!)
Here’s your new naughty mag (Grin! Grin! Grin!)
And you won’t mind all the bills.
*** mood break, the stage darkens ***
It’s true, some days are cold and rainy
And I feel sad
But then you give me hot cocoa and it isn’t so bad!
All of you make me happy
And I won’t wear a frown
‘Cause I’m so proud that Ponyville is my town!
*** the lights come up! woo! ***
I really am so happy
And your mail fills me with glee
You get something, I get something
Registered C.O.D!
Still I love to see you every day
Yes I do
There’s not much more, I can say
That I do
It makes me happy when you stamp, stamp, stamp
And include a return address.
*** as often happens in Equestria, the crowd sings ***
Come on everypony, mail, mail, mail
Fill my bag up with letters and postcards
All I really need is more mail, mail, mail
From these postal friends of mine!
*** more of the same; someponies must have been in the cider, one supposes ***
*** finale, as she dances ecstatically before the crowd ***
Mail! Mail! Mail! Mail!
Maiiiil!
Hooray for Mail!
The crowd looked at each other, exhilarated and embarrassed, asking themselves: what? We were singing for efficient mail delivery?
And yet, there, on the stage, Derpy Hooves stood. Proud. Tired. Smiling. Scared.
The crowd looked at each other, nodded, and came to a common decision.
And their voices rang to the sky.
DERPY HOOVES IS BEST PONY! DERPY! DERPY! DERPY!
Ponyville Town Square, Main Stage, the celebration, as the first stars appear:
If we must do this, let it be done quickly, thought Fletcher, uncomfortably.
He straightened his lapels and looked about. Ponies. Ponies. Ponies. I am not, he admitted, a social person. I enjoy stillness. I enjoy quiet.
But I must be here to support Madam Mayor. He tried to smile. Ouch. Those muscles don’t work. Never mind. I should at least attempt to avoid grimacing, he thought.
Ponyville Town Square was alive. Celestia and Luna! How many ponies are there in this town? I must revise my figures. So many visitors! Just the Apple family alone…!
A great hulking pegasus pony, costumed in armor, no less, moved to block Fletcher’s view of the stage.
Oh for the love of…! Love and tolerance, Fletcher, he reminded himself. This is Madam Mayor’s night. At least pretend to be kind.
“Goodpony,” Fletcher said, calmly. “Would you be so helpful as to fold your wings? I fear that you are blocking everypony’s view of the proceedings.”
The pegasus turned. He was as dark as a thundercloud, and his silver armor seemed, well, silver, not merely painted cardboard. His expression was as dark as he was.
But then he folded his wings and removed his tall helm. “Forgive me, sir,” he rumbled quietly. “I am unused to crowds. I did not intend to inconvenience anypony. How now, sir? Is your view unobstructed?”
“Yes. Yes, thank you, sir,” said Fletcher. Interesting, he thought. He not only dresses as a knight, he plays the part. Commendable.
The pegasus sketched a bow. He and his companion, a slender young fellow in an alicorn costume, moved companionably to one side.
If every crowd was as well-behaved as this one, thought Fletcher. I might be tempted to go out more.
Ah! There! Madam Mayor!
She stepped onto the stage. She looks lovely, Fletcher thought. He had never harbored romantic feelings for the Mayor, though he did admire her. I am proud of her, he realized, as she stood in the spotlight. Perhaps, if I had a daughter…? He shook his head and flung the thought away.
“Good evening, everypony,” Madam Mayor said.
The crowd exploded.
For five minutes, the air was dense with Woo-hoos and Yee-haws. Fletcher applauded, quietly.
Yay. Woo. Let’s get on with this, he thought, irritably.
“Before we start the sing-a-long,” said Madam Mayor. “I have a few announcements.
“Today’s Best Face-Painting Award goes to Scootaloo, for her,” Madam Mayor squinted. “‘Deathmetal Hard Rockin’ Horse’ design.”
APPLAUSE.
“The Best of Show Award for the Pet Parade goes to Snails’, um, snail, Swiftrunner, thanks to his owner’s demonstration of his remarkably vast knowledge of gastropods.”
APPLAUSE?
“The winner of the Unicorn Cooking Contest is Lyra Heartstrings, with her Double-Chocolate Double-Mint Green Fudge Fantasies.”
APPLAUSE!
“The winner of the Earth Pony Storytelling Contest is Josh Pie, for his inspiring tale of the Third Princess.”
GROANS (“No! Please don’t encourage him!”). AND LAUGHTER.
“And, finally, the winner of the Pegasus Pony Musical Contest is Derpy Hooves, for her happy song, ‘Mail, Mail, Mail.’”
WILD APPLAUSE! DERPY! DERPY IS BEST PONY! DERPY!
“I want to thank everypony that participated in today’s events. You are all winners!”
Okay, fine. Let’s move on, thought Fletcher, crossly.
“To lead us all in the sing-a-long, I’ve invited one of Ponyville’s most important contributors: Fluttershy.”
APPLAUSE!
“It’s okay, dear. Come out. We’ll all be delighted to see you.”
APPLAUSE?
As Madam Mayor surrendered the spotlight and took her place among the audience, the little yellow pegasus walked on stage. Cringed. Walked back. Stopped. Then drew herself up and marched proudly to center stage.
WILD APPLAUSE!
“Um, hi, everypony!” she said, timidly.
FLUTTER-SHY! FLUTTER-SHY! FLUTTER-SHY!
Fluttershy emitted an “eep!” that endeared her even to Fletcher. This is a worthy pony, he thought, unconsciously letting go of his irritation. Let us support her.
“I, I thought,” said Fluttershy, “that we should start with something familiar. I wrote a version of the Heart Carol just for this evening. The Night Carol. For Princess Luna. Does everypony have a copy of the lyrics? Yes? Okay. Then. Everypony together.”
The stage was dark, except for one spotlight on Fluttershy. She gestured. And, for a moment, she embraced all of Ponyville with her wings.
Then Fluttershy sang. And Ponyville sang with her.
“The light of friendship lives in our hearts,
As long as it glows we cannot drift apart,
Though terrors arise, their numbers are few,
Love and tolerance will see us through (Will see us through).
“We are guided by Stars, wherever we roam,
If we follow their light, they will soon lead us home,
Though doubts arise, in uncertain night,
We will be comforted by their light (By their light).
“The Moon is a lantern in the river of night,
Kind is her face and lovely her light,
She guides us to sleep, in her glow we all dream,
Of Mystery and Wonder and Joys unseen! (Joys unseen!)
“The Night is our guide, it holds no fear,
The Moon is a friend, the Stars are so dear,
Though we wander, our path is always clear,
The Constellation of pony friends,
A Galaxy of friends to the very, very end!”
A pause. A heartbeat. Then. WILD APPLAUSE!
Oh, dear. I appear to have something in my eye, thought Fletcher.
I had planned to go home now, after the first song, he thought. I have put in an appearance. That is enough.
But, Fletcher Veterinary, the solitary pony thought, I believe I will stay. For myself, for a change. Yes, he decided, warmly. I will stay to the very end.
Oh, bother! Where is my songbook?
After the celebration:
Well, I think that went pretty well, Marigold allowed herself to think. She looked at her clipboard.
Note to Twilight Sparkle: thanks for the clipboard. Sorry about the cookies; please try again!
Okay, yes, there were rough spots, she admitted. There had been this teeny, tiny riot after all of Lyra’s Double-Chocolate Double-Mint Green Fudge Fantasies had run out. Note to the Cakes: get recipe. Note to self: get recipe.
Note to Truffle Shuffle: so sorry your little pet pig, Macon Bacon, sprained his trotter. I hope we’ll see him next year, dear.
Note to Snails: your understanding of gastropoda is an inspiration to us all! You will go far, young colt! Please say hello to Swiftrunner for me!
Note to Dinky Doo: please, don’t tell anypony this, but… I thought your Peppermint Divinity was the best treat in the contest. Can you share the recipe? Note to the Cakes: if Dinky talks to you about her divinity, maybe tone down the peppermint a bit? Whoa! My sinuses would thank you.
Marigold paused and smiled. Note to Fletcher Veterinary: I saw you grinning and singing, you silly pony! No, scratch that. Note to Fletcher Veterinary: thank you for your support. See you in the office tomorrow.
Nopony will ever know this, but I think Fletcher is best pony, Marigold thought to herself. Dear Fletcher.
“Madam Mayor?”
Marigold looked up to see an elegant pegasus pony, wearing a silly wax horn and a ridiculous handlebar moustache, standing before her. Colts, these days, Marigold sighed.
“Yes, sir,” Marigold said. “How may I help you?”
The pegasus pony twitched his moustache. His (boyfriend?) companion, a stern-looking pegasus pony in fancy costume, loomed nearby.
“I’m… Crescent Cookie, Madam Mayor. We may have met briefly, once or twice before.” He motioned to his companion.
The big pegasus in silver armor bowed. “At your service, Madam. I’m Bu—.”
The slender pegasus gave his companion a warning look.
The big pegasus sighed. “Butthead. I’m Butthead,” he said, looking away.
“Butthead? Well,” Marigold said quickly. “That’s a fine, strong name.”
Marigold glanced at the big pegasus’s flank. His cutie mark was a bull’s head, with horns. Butthead. Oh, you poor dear!
“You understand, I’m terribly busy, here at the end of the celebration,” said Marigold. “But, can I help you, Mr. Cookie?”
Crescent Cookie twitched his moustache. “Madam Mayor,” he began. “We,” he motioned to himself and Butthead, “are only visitors here in Ponyville. But we were moved by your celebration. It was unlike anything that We… well, myself and Butthead,” (the big pegasus sighed), “have seen in cent… for awhile.”
“It was long past due, don’t you think,” said Marigold. “Today is the Sun’s longest day, and the Moon’s shortest night. I pray that Princess Luna finds no insult in this. I think another celebration, perhaps during Hearth’s Warming Eve, might be better. The shortest day, the longest night. When fear is challenged by hope. The reconciliation of the three families of ponies is a metaphor, I think, of the reconciliation of the Sun, Moon and Earth.”
Crescent Cookie looked thoughtful. “Yes. Perhaps. Perhaps you are right. You have given me much to think on, Madam Mayor. Thank you.”
Crescent Cookie and her companion walked away.
Filthy Rich and Diamond Tiara approached.
Diamond Tiara strutted in her finery. She sported a crystal horn and a crown of gold. Wings, fletched with actual feathers, flowed from her back. Her gown fell in luxurious cascades about her flanks.
Her father, Mr. Rich, clumped along beside her. He was wearing armor. Real armor! Why, thought Marigold, that is the barding of the Royal Guard from, when?, two centuries ago! An antique!
A Princess and Her Royal Guard! Marigold’s appreciation of Filthy Rich improved. Perhaps, he overindulges her. But he is a good dad.
And, from somewhere behind them: Bean Counter. Even here, today, he dressed in dull gray and carried his panniers of legal gibberish.
Marigold chose to neglect Bean Counter and to focus on Princess Tiara.
“Your Highness,” said Marigold, happily.
Diamond Tiara sniffed. “Good eve, Madam Mayor. My lord father would have words with you. I, myself, am indifferent.”
Mr. Rich looked apologetic. “Her story, Why I Am Better Than You, placed, well, poorly in the storytelling competition.”
“Oh, dear,” said Marigold, unsurprised. She had known Mr. Rich’s father, Stinkin’, back in the day. What a good pony he was! Filthy Rich, though, as much as he tried, seemed a bit lost, struggling to care for his daughter.
Bean Counter surged forward. “Here, at last, we can talk face-to-face, without interference,” he said. “Yes,” he proclaimed proudly. “Challenge this, Madam Mayor!”
He pulled out his diagrams of the proposed watermill and spread them against the ground.
The thing stood three stories tall. It spanned the Ponyville river, a leg on each shore, to take life and power from the river. It boasted of Industry. It boasted of Profit.
Bean Counter looked up, eagerly, feverishly. “Isn’t it wonderful, sir?”
“It looks like a skull,” said Diamond Tiara, sniffing. “An icky skull that vomits an endless river of filth. Dad, I don’t like it.”
“Ewww! Hmmm, well, you might be right, cupcake,” said her father. “Now that I see it, I can’t un-see it.”
He turned Counter’s plans this way and that. In the end, he sighed.
“No, this simply won’t do. All I wanted, if you remember, was a small water mill to take over for the Ponyville Windmill while we are restoring the Windmill. My father helped build the Windmill, remember. This plan of yours would make the Windmill obsolete. Can’t have that.
“Today’s celebration has reminded me of something. My father once told me, son, our wealth is not counted in gold. Our wealth is counted in ponies, in their health and happiness. I trust in my father’s wisdom. I will try to do no less than he.
“Sorry, Counter,” he said, rolling up the scroll and passing it back to his accountant. “Scratch this. Oh, hay! Tiara! Show Madam Mayor your little dance!”
Bean Counter looked at the scroll. He looked at his employer. He looked back at the scroll.
“Sir! But, sir,” he protested, purpling.
“Hush, Counter! Let’s enjoy Princess Tiara’s little dance!”
Mr. Filthy Rich and Madam Mayor looked on, as Bean Counter fumed. And Diamond Tiara danced her little dance. Which was, at the end of this long day, the most important thing in the world to her father.
A tiny, well-kept bungalow in Ponyville, after midnight:
What a day, what a day! Marigold thought.
Finally, finally, she was in her little house, resting in her favorite chair, with a cup of chamomile tea close by.
I love Ponyville. I love everpony in Ponyville. But, at the end of the day, it is so good to get away from them all.
She sipped her tea.
Fletcher, her industrious secretary was happy. Well, as happy as he ever could be. Mr. Rich was happy. The good ponies of Ponyville were happy. Mr. Counter was disgruntled, but so it goes. Can’t please everypony, she thought, dismissing him.
I’d like to retire, someday, she thought. Somehow, when I wasn’t looking, I became old. My hip aches. Who will come after me?
She sipped her tea.
She pondered. Everypony would think me mad, to say this out loud. But: Pinkie Pie.
Pinkie knows and loves everypony in Ponyville. She is energetic and positive. She wants the best for everypony. She has a serious side, that she hides. She is smart, efficient and organized; how else could she manage all those parties?
She imagined Fletcher struggling to cope with Madam Mayor Pie. She laughed and shook her head. Poor, poor Fletcher!
The doorbell rang.
At this hour? Marigold pulled herself out of her chair. It might be important.
Marigold opened her door to discover the Queen of Night and Mystery.
Princess Luna stood at Marigold’s porch, smiling uncertainly. “I apologize for the lateness of my visit, Madam Mayor. No! Please, don’t bow. May I talk to you?”
“Of course! Of course,” said Marigold, automatically. She stepped back and Princess Luna flowed inside.
“Captain Bucephalus,” called Princess Luna, turning back. “We shan’t be too long.”
A huge gray pegasus pony, clad in the silver armor of the Lunar Guard, stood at Marigold’s garden gate. He bowed. “Ever at your service, Your Highness.” He stood, vigilant.
Marigold closed the door.
“May I offer you a cup of tea?” Marigold said, turning to her visitor.
Princess Luna breathed. “Chamomile? Yes, that would be lovely.”
Marigold busied herself with preparing a cup. She served the tea. She sat, nervously, in her favorite chair while Princess Luna settled herself on Marigold’s tiny sofa.
“You are probably wondering,” began Princess Luna. “why I did not join your celebration, this evening.”
“Oh, no, Your Highness,” said Marigold, hurriedly. “I understand that Your Highness was otherwise engaged. Equestria is vast. And Ponyville is a tiny part of your concern.”
“But I was here, this evening,” said Princess Luna, sipping her tea. “Do you remember the silly-looking pony that approached you, after the sing-a-long? The one with the mustache? That was me, with my dear Captain, Bucephalus.”
Oh, my!
“Marigold, in a thousand years, nopony has sung gladly to my Sky,” said Princess Luna, softly. “This is my fault, I admit.” She looked down. “In a thousand years, when did I reach down? When did I ever do what you have done, this night? Gathered family and friends to sing to the Stars, to the Moon?”
Princess Luna looked up. “Your heart is greater than mine,” she said. “I must acknowledge this.” She put her teacup aside. She stood over Marigold.
“Kneel, Marigold!” commanded Princess Luna.
Marigold knelt, alarmed.
Princess Luna touched Marigold with her horn, delicately, on Marigold’s right and left shoulders.
“Noble Marigold, arise!” said Princess Luna. Unconsciously, She had fallen into the Elder Speech. “Thou good and faithful servant! In the old times, I would have granted thee lands and honors! But, see! You humble me! You have lands enou’! All of sweet Ponyville is your demesne! And honor… what greater honor is there, than to be the Mayor of Ponyville? This night, it is you who honor me, Your Ladyship.”
And then the Queen of Night and Mystery knelt low before Madam Mayor of Ponyville.
“No! No!” exclaimed Marigold. “No! I am too small to accept this! I’m just a little pony, in a little town, after all.”
Princess Luna stood. Her eyes gleamed. “But, my Lady Marigold, how can thee not understand this? Celestia and I, we do not rule because of blood, or power, or tradition. We rule because we understand duty. The Sun must rise! The Moon must sweep away the Day! The round of Day and Night, of Fire and Mystery must prevail!
“But, regardless of the Sun and Moon, the Earth abides. That silly pony, Josh, had the right o’ it, in his way. Celestia and I, we rule the Sky. But the World, the Green World is in thy care. And my Sister and I must bow before thee, the caretaker of Equestria.”
Princess Luna sighed. “Equestria turns. It has its seasons. The Winter Wrap-up. The Running of the Leaves. Thou describes thyself as small. Yet, it is the World that revolves around thee!
“My Lady Marigold, I cannot command a single leaf to fall. Yet, when thy children run, the trees yield themselves to thee. When the World groans under Winter, thy children carry away the snows. The rains, the very clouds that nurture Equestria, are drawn from thy reservoirs. Marigold, sister, how can thee not see thy power?”
Marigold stood, flustered.
“But I am old,” she said.
“I am the Queen of a Thousand Years,” declared Princess Luna. “Would thee challenge that?”
“No! But I,” Marigold began. “I’d like to retire, one day,” she said quietly. “To rest.”
Princess Luna beamed at her. “Here, thy quality is made plain! Thou would put aside power for peace of mind! For serenity. Would that I and my Sister had that choice!”
Marigold stopped. She looked at Princess Luna. Really looked at her, as if for the first time. I have always been in awe of the Princesses, living down here, in the shadow of Canterlot. But Luna is not a cipher, not a distant concern. She is real. And her heart beats.
She is strange. She is old. She is a visitor from another age. Lost. Alone. Even in the midst of Her glory, alone.
And Luna is here. Now. In my house. Aching for approval. Eager for friendship. A little pony. And I love all of my little ponies. My children.
“Luna. Sister,” Marigold began. Luna smiled, encouragingly.
She is so sweet! thought Marigold. Why did I not see this before?
“I am very happy that you enjoyed the celebration. My secretary, Fletcher, dear Fletcher, hoped that you would find it encouraging. I am so pleased to find that he was right.
“You give honor to me. But the celebration was not mine alone. It was Ponyville’s. I am so very proud of everypony. They, all of them, made this day special. They have given you their friendship. They all made this day, this night, magic.”
Lady Marigold and Princess Luna then sat together in silence, feeling the warmth of each other’s regard. One princess to another. One sister to another.
They sipped their tea.
“You spoke of retirement,” said Luna, quietly, after a bit. “Have you considered who would replace you?”
Awkward. Okay, Marigold, be honest.
“I think,” said Marigold, hesitantly. “I think Pinkie Pie would be a good Mayor.”
Luna snorted tea out her nose. “Ha ha! Ha ha ha!” She laughed. She clutched her chest and bellowed her delight.
A minute or two passed, as Luna collected herself and brushed the tears from her eyes.
Luna smiled fondly at Marigold. “Let it be so, then, sister. When that day comes, I pray, let it be so.”
