When he rejects Hearth's Warming, three spirits seek to put Grogar right.
Grogar is an old, grumpy ram who sees Hearth's Warming as a waste of time and money. However, after he rebukes those close to him, and closes his heart, three spirits set forth to put him right.
Based on the Charles Dickens story 'a Christmas Carol'. Rated Teen for some dark themes.
Tirek was dead, to begin with. There is no doubt whatever about that. The certificate of his burial was seen and understood by many, signed by Celestia, the clerk, the undertaker, and the sole mourner. Grogar signed it. And Grogar's name was good upon change as any creature in the city of Canterlot. Grogar knew Tirek was dead. How could it be otherwise? Grogar was his sole business partner, his sole friend, his sole mourner.
Grogar never painted out Tirek's name from the shop sign, however. There it stood, for many years afterwards, hanging above the street like a Hearth's Warming ornament. Tirek and Grogar. That was what the firm was called. Sometimes, those unfamiliar with the business called Grogar Tirek, and others called him Grogar. Despite not being a centaur in the former case, Grogar answered to both names. It was all the same to him.
But he was a tight fisted hoof at the grindstone was Grogar, a squeezing, wrenching, grasping, scraping, clutching, covetous, old ram. His blue fur stood out amongst the white stones and bricks of Canterlot's fair streets, and his white mane was as cold as the snow that fell, his red eyes hollow and empty of all emotion, and his horns regarding the ways of the world with a casual sneer. No warmth could warm him, and no cold could chill him, as he seemed to suck the very warmth out of every place he went. Foul weather had no clue what to do with him. The heaviest rain, and snow, and hail, and sleet, could boast of the advantage over him in only one respect. They often “came down” handsomely, and Grogar never did.
Nocreature ever stopped him in the street and asked him, "how are you, Grogar? Care for some tea and cake at a cafe?" Young colts and fillies of all races dispersed when he came their way, nobody asked him the time, and even the blind beings would know to step aside when he brushed past, as if to say 'better no eyes than evil ones!' Grogar didn't care, however. It was exactly how he liked things. Anycreature who said otherwise was mad.
On a Hearth's Warming Eve many years ago, Grogar sat in his shop at his desk, counting coins, as was his custom. The clock on the Palace had only just gone four, but there was considerable dark outside, as well as a large volume of fog rolling in from the mountains. Most of the buildings had lights on, but Grogar's didn't, instead having a very small fire. A great draft was being produced by the open door, so that Grogar could keep an eye on his assistant, a younger green pony with a blue mane. His fire somehow managed to be even smaller than Grogar's, consisting of all but one coal. But he couldn't increase the heat, for if he were to turn on the gas, Grogar felt it would be necessary for them to part. So, the pony tried to warm himself at the candle, which did little good.
Suddenly, the main door flew open, and a dragonequus appeared in front of Grogar. "A Happy Hearth's Warming to you, Grogar!" the dragonequus said, with a smile from his toothy mouth.
Grogar rolled his eyes. "Baa!" he said. "Humbug."
"Hearth's Warming a humbug? Surely you can't mean that!"
"Oh, I do, Discord," Grogar retorted. "Out upon a Happy Hearth's Warming! What's Hearth's Warming but a time for paying bills without money; a time where you find yourself a year older but not a bit richer, a time for finding all the items in your inventory through a round dozen of months presented dead against you? If I had my way, every idiot who goes about with 'Happy Hearth's Warming' on his or her lips should be boiled with their own pudding, and buried with a stake of holly through their heart."
"What a dreadful thing to say, Grogar? Why are you so miserable?"
"Let me keep Hearth's Warming in my way, Discord, and I'll let you keep it in yours."
Discord shook his head. "Keep it? But you don't keep it at all!"
"Then let me leave it alone. 'Happy Hearth's Warming' indeed! Much good may it do you. Much good it has ever done you!"
"There are many things that I consider good that have not returned profit for me," Discord answered. "Hearth's Warming is indeed one of them. But I, in all the chaos that characterises the world, have found Hearth's Warming to be a happy time, a special, celebrated time, a time when all creatures together are of one cause, fellow travellers to the grave, rather than myriad races bound on other journeys. And therefore, although Hearth's Warming has never put a bit in my pocket, I will keep it, and do keep it, and I say Fausticorn bless it!"
From the neighbouring room, the clerk began to applaud. Grogar's head snapped over. "If I hear another sound from you, you will spend Hearth's Warming... UNEMPLOYED!" He then looked back to Discord. "You're quite the speaker," he said. "You should consider running for Mayor."
"Oh, please Grogar, come dine with me and Fluttershy tomorrow?"
Grogar said that he would. He would indeed. He went to explain his entire position to the now perplexed dragonequus.
"But why? Why?"
"Why did you get married- to a pegasus of all things?"
"Because I fell in love, that's why!"
Grogar began laughing. "Because you fell in love!" he chortled, as if that were the only thing in the world more ridiculous than a Happy Hearth's Warming. "Good afternoon."
"But you never came to see us before that happened. Why give it as a reason for not coming now?"
"Good. Afternoon."
"Can't we just be friends? Must we always be at loggerheads with each other?"
"Good afternoon. Can you not take a hint?"
"It saddens me to find you in such a state," Discord sighed, "for I have never been party to such a quarrel to find you so desolute. But I have made the homage to Hearth's Warming, and I intent to keep my homour to the last. So a Happy Hearth's Warming! And a Happy New Year!"
"GOOD AFTERNOON!" Grogar thundered, the entire building shaking as he did so. Discord left the building, vanishing into thin air, and two unicorns stood in his place. Both wore straw hats and blue and white overcoats and had yellow and red manes. One of them had a moustache.
"Good afternoon, sir," said the one with the moustache. "Have I the pleasure of addressing Mr Tirek or Mr Grogar?"
"Tirek has been dead for nine years. He died nine years ago this very night."
"At this season of the year," the one without the moustache said, "it has become a tradition to collect a charitable collection to assist the poor and needy at this time of year, as it is when want is keenly felt, and abundance rejoices. What shall I put you down for?"
Grogar stared him dead in the eye. "Nothing."
"You wish to remain anonymous?"
Grogar huffed. "I wish to be left alone. Since you asked me what I wish, that is what I wish. Is Tartarus not still around?"
"Tartarus still exists, yes," said the pony with the moustache. "But it is hardly the place for the poor and needy, who suffer at this present time and are in need of comforts."
"I don't make myself merry at Hearth's Warming," Grogar grumbled, "and I can hardly affort to make idle creatures merry. I support Tartarus through taxes- the place costs enough to run- and those who cannot support themselves must go there."
"But they surely would rather die!"
"If they are going to die, they had better do it and decrease the surplus population," Grogar answered.
An hour later, the time to close up had arrived, and Grogar turned to his clerk. "I suppose, Sandbar, you'll want all day tomorrow."
"If quite convenient sir."
"It is not convenient, and it is not fair. If I were to stop a few bits for it, you'd think yourself mightily ill used, wouldn't you?"
Sandbar nodded.
"And yet you don't think me ill used, when I pay a day's wages- for no work."
"It's only once a year, sir," Sandbar answered.
Grogar sighed. "A poor excuse for picking a creature's pocket every Hearth's Warming. But I suppose you must have the whole day off. Be here all the early the day after."
Here, Grogar and Sandbar headed opposite ways. Grogar took his usual dinner in his usual dingy tavern (to save money), and having finished with his banker's book, headed for his home. He resided in dingy chambers that sat in a building that was now mainly in use as offices and warehouses, and Grogar was now the only person who lived there. As he approached his door, he looked at the door knocker. There was nothing particularly unusual about this door knocker, except it was very large and made of brass. So imagine Grogar's surprise when he looked at it and saw not a knocker- but Tirek's face!
As Grogar looked fixedly upon this strange sight, it was a knocker again. He threw the door open, stepped through, and closed it behind him with a bang. The sound echoed through the house like thunder, like each room had a separate peal of echoes sounding through it. He went up the stairs, adjusting his candle to save the wick. Darkness is cheap, and Grogar liked that. But nontheless, he decided to conduct a full search of his home, to be absolutely sure. The incident with the door knocker had shaken him somewhat, and so he looked about.
Sitting-room, bedroom, lumber-room. All as they should be. Nobody under the table, nobody under the sofa; a small fire in the grate; spoon and basin ready, for a small bowl of soup (Grogar had a cold). Nobody under the bed; nobody in the closet; Old fire-guard, old shoes, two fish baskets, washing stand on three legs, and a poker, for some reason.
Grogar went over to his table and emptied the contents of the basin into the bowl, and began to eat the soup. His eye was drawn to an old green bell that hung upon the wall. It dated from the days when this structure was in use as a warehouse, and it communicated with one room and another. The chain that operated had long since been disconnected, so Grogar was perplexed when it suddenly began to ring.
"Cure that Bewitching Bell!" he snapped, as suddenly every other bell in the building began ringing as well, followed by the clanking of chains and the sound of hoofsteps. He glanced back to his door, when suddenly a figure walked straight through it, and looked at him.
Tirek! The same, the very same. The gaunt face, the long, scrawny arms, his four legs, all accounted four. His entire body was bound in chains, and his skin had the pallid look of stone to it, although small strains of red could still be seen upon his person. Grogar was more perplexed than frightened.
"How now!" he asked. "What do you want?"
"Much," Tirek replied, his voice weedy and hollow.
"Who are you? Or rather, who were you?"
"In life I was your partner, Tirek."
"Can you sit at the table?"
"I can."
Grogar, suspecting he would just pass clean through the chair, said, "Do it then." But Tirek pulled the chair back and rested his enormous bulk upon it as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
"You do not believe I am here, do you?" Tirek asked.
"Well, I don't," Grogar answered, "For I do not trust my senses. You see, a little thing might affect them. You could be some sour milk, a fragment of cheese, a leftover of an underdone potato. There's more of gravy than of grave about you!" Grogar was not usually the one to crack jokes, but he did so here to keep down his own horror. Imagine his greater horror when Tirek let loose a blood-curdling shriek that shook the building to its foundations! "Mercy!" Grogar cried. "Dreadful apparition, why do you trouble me? Why do spirits walk Equestria, and why do they come to me?"
"It is required of all creatures in this world," Tirek began, "to travel abroad amongst their fellow creatures. If they not do so, they are condemned to do so after death. These chains are the ones I forged in life for my sins, and I never roamed beyond our business house. I cannot rest, I cannot stay, I cannot linger anywhere!"
"You may have covered a great deal of ground in the last nine years."
Tirek either did not hear the remark or chose not to. "I came to you tonight that you may have a chance of escaping my fate. A chance of my procuring, Grogar."
"You always were a kind soul, Tirek. Thank you!"
"You will be haunted by three spirits."
Grogar's face went pale. "Haunted? Tirek, I think I'd rather not."
"If you do not, you have no chance of escaping the path I tread," Tirek warned him. "Expect the first tomorrow, when the bell tolls one. The second the next night at the same hour. The third the next day when the stroke of Twelve has ceased to vibrate! Look to see me no more; and look that, for your own sake, you remember what has passed between us!”
Tirek and his chains then vanished through the wall and out into the open air. For once, Grogar was lost for words, and upon realising his tiredness from the labours of the day, his encounters with ghosts, or the lateness of the hour, he went to his bed and flopped on it, and was soon asleep.
The most eventful night of his life was about to begin...
When Grogar awoke from his slumber, it was so dark that he could scarcely distinguish the darkness of his own room from the darkness that lay beyond the window (Grogar, wanting to save money, had not installed any curtains to cover them). As he lay there in the dark, his eyes glanced over to his old Grandfather clock, and as he gazed upon the hands, they moved, and the clock rang out a deep, dull, hollow, melancholy One.
Light flashed up upon that instant, and Grogar covered his eyes to prevent himself from being blinded. When the light receded and became tolerable, he moved his forelegs back, and glanced upon a strange being flying before him. Flying indeed, as it looked to be a pegasus. The creature that flew before him had salmon coloured fur that distinguished it from the intense brightness of the light that surrounded it, and its mane and tail was the purest blue and turquoise. It hovered in front of him, her red eyes looking into his as if in surprise that he was there.
"Are you the spirit who's arrival was foretold to me?" asked Grogar.
"I am!" the pegasus replied, the voice confirming them to be a filly. She had a smile upon her face that was at once adorable and maniacal. "I am the ghost of Hearth's Warming Past."
"Far past?"
"Your past." The spirit paused again, and after a moment spoke. "I come for your welfare. Rise, and fly with me!"
Grogar was of a mind to tell her that he, as a ram, lacked wings, and thus could not fly. He was also ill suited to the cold, having only fur and no coat; that bed was warm, and the thermometer was reading well below freezing. He stepped slowly forward, and took her hoof. But as she began to lead him toward the window, he stopped. "I am but a mortal, and liable to fall!"
"Oh golly, you are silly!" the spirit joked. "Take but my hoof, and you shall be upheld in more than this!"
The pair passed through the wall, and into a vast tunnel of white light, before finding themselves in a thoroughfare in a town in Equestria many miles away and many Hearth's Warming's ago. The town streets were bedecked with decorations and lights, and ponies went about merry and happy, as did many other creatures who seemed merry. Before them stood a large building with many doors and windows. It was a warehouse.
"Do you know this place?" the spirit asked.
"Do I know it?" Grogar replied. "I was an apprentice here!"
They went through the wall into the warehouse, and saw upon a great platform was stood a mare, overseeing the entire room with pride. She was of brown fur, with similarly brown mane, and a grand yellow and grey hat upon her head, out of the top of which emerged a brown decoration akin to melted chocolate. Her green eyes glowed with happiness, and she wore a dress with a yellow bodice, puffed pink sleeves, and a brown skirt covering her tail, upon the back of which sat a pink bow. Had that platform been but two inches taller, she would have knocked her head against the ceiling.
Grogar's heart filled with joy. "Why! It's old Miss Puddinghead! Miss Puddinghead, alive again!"
Miss Puddinghead laughed, and adressed two figures in the crowd. "Yo ho there! Grogar! Pansy!"
In entered a much younger Grogar, followed by his fellow apprentice, a young red mare with yellow eyes, a pink and yellow mane and tail, and wore a black dress.
"No more work this Hearth's Warming night!" Miss Puddinghead called to them. "Let's have the shutters up, and have lots of room here, before anybody can say 'Nightmare Moon'!"
Clear away! There was nothing they wouldn't have cleared away with old Miss Puddinghead looking on. Every surface was cleared, every table was moved, each desk lifted out of place and stored on high, as if dismissed from public life forevermore, and the lights increased, and coal heaped upon the fire, and the room was soon as bright as a ballroom, of the sort that one would desire upon a cold winter's night.
Then in came all the workers of the warehouse. In came Mr Puddinghead, or Hurricane as he was also known. In came many of the sons and daughters of the Puddingheads, in varying degrees of competence and ineptitude respectively. In came all and everyone, the butcher, the baker, the candlestick maker, the milkmare amongst them too. In came a cellist with a black mane and grey fur. And she went up to the music stand and tuned her cello, and made an orchestra of it, and tuned like fifty stomach aches. Then appeared a DJ with white fur and blue mane, with purple shades, and made an absolute racket on her turntables.
And then, the two styles together in perfect unison, the dance began. Away the couples went, up and down and round again. Some misstepped as they danced, some went in reverse, some pushed, some pulled, new top couple emerged at the top, new couples always ending up in the wrong place, and momentarily correcting their errors, all top couples at last, and not another to help them!
And then Puddinghead and Hurricane came forth to dance together. The cellist, whose face was now the colour of an apple with the heat, proceeded to play another tune, an old classic, the 'Ballad of the Crystal Empire'. They were the top couple, there was no denying that, and those beneath them were varied and many; the foolish, the happy, those who would dance, and no power in Tartarus would deny them.
Once the clock stroke the midnight hour, the informal occasion broke up. Hurricane and Puddinghead took their stations on either side of the great door, and waved their employees out, and wished them a Happy Hearth's Warming as they did so. Grogar was so enrapped in the scene and filled with joy he jumped when the spirit spoke again. "A small matter," she said, "to make these silly folks so full of gratitude. She has spent but a few bits of your mortal money, so why think you that she deserves such praise?"
Grogar, momentarily forgetting that this was a scene from long ago, spoke of his former employer in the present tense, rather than in the past. "It is never that," he said. "She has the power to make us happy or miserable, our labour a pleasure or a toil. Her power lies in thoughts and looks, things you cannot value in coin. And what if? The happiness she gives is enough to us as if it costs a fortune."
He was then aware of the spirit looking at him intensely. "Is something the matter?" she asked.
Grogar nodded. "I should like to say a few words to Sandbar, my clerk, right now."
"Our time together is short!" the spirit said. "Quickly, we must go!"
The words were not directed at anypony, but it produced an immediate effect. For they were both suddenly observing two sheep. One was a ram, clearly Grogar, a ram in the prime of life. The other, a ewe, glanced at the ground, sadness in her face.
The old Grogar looked away. "Why this?" he asked.
"It matters little to you," the ewe said to the younger Grogar. "Another idol has displaced me, and taken hold of you."
"What idol?"
"A golden one. You fear this world too much, and I have seen your nobler passions fall off one by one until the last, gain, engrosses you."
"Why is this so?" the younger Grogar asked the ewe. "I am not changed towards you. Not at all!"
"If you were truly free, would you pick one such as myself, with no value in currency, to be with you for life eternal? No. And in knowing this, I release you from our engagement, for the love of the ram you once were."
As the sorry scene faded out, Grogar looked to the spirit, his eyes pained. "Why do you show me this? Do you delight in torturing me?"
"These are merely the shadows of what have been!" the spirit exclaimed. "They cannot be changed, so do not blame me, mister."
"Away with you!" Grogar replied. "Remove me from this place! Leave me! Haunt me no longer!"
In that moment, he was back in his room, upon his bed; beset by the difficult emotion of the night, he collapsed onto it, and sobbed himself into slumber.
Awakening a few hours later, or at least what seemed to be a few hours later, Grogar was not terribly surprised when he awoke to see the hands on the clock move onto the stroke of one and sound the hour. Not a moment passed, and his room was flooded with a surge of bright and glorious light, coming through, underneath, over, and around the door. Confused, although recalling the similarity to which the first spirit had come to visit him, he climbed out of bed and headed over to the door, opening it with his mouth and stepped forth into the chamber he called his living room.
It was his room, alright. But it had undergone a surprising transformation in the time he had been asleep. Gone were the old and worn items of his usual passage. In their place sat wreaths, misletoe, holly and ivy, and so much living green hung from the walls that the place looked like a forest. The table was covered in food from end to end, apples, pears, and many other fruits proudly adorning that wooden furniture piece with such pride that it groaned under the weight of fruit and vegetables. Grogar rarely had griffon or dragon guests, so he saw no need to have no meat. Come to think of it, he rarely had guests at all.
Which made the being before him all the more baffling. Sitting next to a roaring fire was a creature who looked like a pony, and yet was not one. Their tail was like a brush, hanging off the back, and their mane hung around their neck like a scarf. Scales adorned the front of their face, and the back around the hips too, and a brown horn with red chevrons sprung forth from their forehead. They had a gigantic smile upon their face, and the moment they noticed Grogar, they called out, confirming this being to be female. "Come in, and know me better, ram!"
Grogar shuffled closer, and looked upon this creature with a mixture of alarm and amazement.
"Oh, there's no need to be scared!" she replied. "I don't bite. I see that you've never seen a Kirin before?"
"No," Grogar admitted. "I daresay I rarely go to the Peaks of Peril. Are there many Kirin like you?"
"Oh, there must be thousands!" the Kirin replied. "I am the Ghost of Hearth's Warming Present."
"Truly a tremendous family to provide for!" Grogar smiled. "Spirit, I was taught a lesson last night by a fellow of yours, and I believe that lesson to be working now. If you have something to teach me tonight, let me profit by it."
"Oh, of course!" the Ghost smiled. "Take my hoof, and we shall go and see what we have to learn!"
Grogar did as she instructed, and in that instant they teleported out of the room and into the streets.
The pair found themselves in a narrow street in Canterlot, in front of an old home that appeared to have seen better days but nontheless glowed with Hearth's Warming merriment. Inside, a number of beings bustled about, all of them seemingly hybrids of ponies and changelings. Grogar knew this place. It was Sandbar's home. Sandbar had but few bits himself, and yet the spirit came by and blessed his home and those who lived there!
Inside, overseeing all, was a changeling of chitin blue, with a red carapace and a whispy pink mane. She happily trotted about as she monitored the stove, something or over cooking upon it. A vast meal had been prepared, impressive for their meagre wage, when the door flew open and another half changeling entered, her face warm and smiling.
"There you are, Labrum!" called the changeling, whom Grogar now recognised as Sandbar's wife, Ocellus. "Where were you?"
"We had a load of creatures to help at the soup kitchen, mother," Labrum replied. "We were overrun by at least a half hour!"
Ocellus smiled, her blue eyes shining in the dingy light. "Well, you are here now, and that is all that matters. Sit ye down at the table, we're almost done here!"
No sooner had Labrum shut the door, then the door opened again, and Sandbar entered, with a small half changeling upon his back. He looked tired and weary, yet smiled to the heavens and his eyes shone with light. He entered through that doorway a victorious hero, that rectangular spot of entry as fine as any archway for a returning conqueror. "Good evening," he said, as he placed the half changeling down upon a chair, and turned to gently kiss his wife, and hug his older daughter.
"How was Lakeheart?" Ocellus asked her husband.
"As good as gold, and more," Sandbar smiled, "and yet more. He a very thoughtful soul, and fine too, and hoped that all remembered that, upon this very day all those years ago, beings myriad and many came together in a single voice to form our nation, and that now we had a chance to do that again with all the races present."
The meal was a most splendid affair. Such was the fine cooking of the vegetables and the hay, and the gravy, that all seemed to have eaten a banquet despite the meagre portions available. And all took to seeing the pudding, the prize of the evening, glistening in its bowl, covered in toffee and glowing like a red hot cannonball used to blow open a ship's hull. Nobody complained about how small it was. It would have been foolish to do so.
And so, with the dinner concluded, the family took to sitting around the fire. Sandbar filled the tankards with (non-alcoholic) apple cider, produced on the Apple farm at Ponyville. Sandbar had been a student of the current matriarch of the Apples, Applejack, when he had attended the School of Friendship. He raised his tankard, and spoke up. "A Happy Hearth's Warming, my dears. Faust bless us!"
"Faust bless us!" cried one and all.
"Faust bless us, every one!" called Lakeheart, his small, beady eyes filled with warmth.
Then Sandbar raised his tankard again. "To Mr Grogar, the founder of the feast!"
"That," Ocellus told him, "is a very poor choice of words. If he were here, I would give him a piece of my mind, and hoped he could swallow it!"
Sandbar shook his head. "My dear! The nymphs! Hearth's Warming day!"
"I cannot believe you expect us to drink to the health of such an odious, stingy ram!" Ocellus went on, her anger building. "You know that fact better than anybody, Sandbar!"
Sandbar merely indicated to Labrum and Lakeheart. Ocellus sighed. "All right, dear. I'll drink to his health for the sake of the day. Long life to him! He'll be very merry and very happy, I'll have no doubt."
The sentiment was clear. Grogar was the monster of the family, and his name cast a long shadow upon them.
Seconds later, Grogar was distracted from watching the scene before him by hearing a hearty laugh. As the scene suddenly changed to a home he knew somewhat well, he was astonished to see that the laugh belonged to none other than Discord! He floated in the middle of a living room, with many others watching him. Sat on one of the chairs was a yellow pegasus with a pink mane and tail. Grogar soon recognised her as Discord's wife, Fluttershy.
"He said that Hearth's Warming was a humbug!" Discord laughed. "He even believed it too!"
"Well, shame on him," Fluttershy told him.
"He's a very odd fellow," Discord admitted. "He is wealthy, but he is something of a recluse, and he is at home today."
"He's missing out, that's for sure," said another figure sat nearby, whom was known as Zephyr Breeze, Fluttershy's brother.
"Shall we play a game?" asked another voice. "Would you care to lead us, Discord, in a game of Yes or No?"
"Of course," Discord smiled. He thought for a moment. "This being has my name, spelt backwards... but with all the wrong letters."
A number of answers were proposed, until suddenly one of the guests got the answer. "I've got it! It's Grogar!"
"I thought it was a bear," Zephyr sighed. "That has all the wrong letters too."
"Oh well," Discord smiled. "A Happy Hearth's Warming, and a Wondrous New Year."
Before long, the spirit and Grogar were on their way again. They travelled far and wide, all across Equestria and beyond. They sat in underwater homes in Seaquestria and saw seaponies play; in the sick-houses of Clugetown, and were at peace; into the flaming heat of the Dragon Lands, and saw drakes happy and merry; in every refuge of misery they brought happiness and peace.
Grogar suddenly found himself in the centre of Canterlot. He looked about him, and the spirit Kirin was gone. He looked up at the clock as it sounded twelve, and as he looked over, he remembered Tirek's words, and saw something draw close to him.
The creature that approached him was so tall it seemed as though she (Grogar thought it was a she, such was the precedent set by the preceding spirits) scraped her long, gnarled horn against the roof of the world. Her chitin was black, and her eyes glowed a sickly green that pierced the gloom of the fog. Her body was covered in holes, and were the circumstances not so dread it would have been almost comical, a Changeling that looked like a piece of Swiss cheese. Her back was covered in a green shell, and her face held no expression.
Grogar looked up fearfully. "Am I in the presence of the Ghost of Hearth's Warming Yet to Come?"
The ghost didn't answer, but merely pointed her horn.
"Ghost of the Future!" Grogar exclaimed. "I fear you more than any other being I have ever seen. But I know that your lesson intents to do me good, and as I hope to live as a ram different to what I was, I am prepared to give you company. Will you not speak?"
The spectre stayed silent.
"Lead on! Lead on! The night is waning fast, and 'tis precious time to me, Spirit!"
They entered into a great room, filled with creatures talking and working on money and banking. At the side of the room, two stallions (whom Grogar recognised as the ones who had tried to collect for charity) were talking, and the Changeling indicated to listen to them speaking.
"I know very little about it, to be honest," said the moustached one, now even more impressive and monstrous than before. "I only know he's dead."
"When did he die?" asked his compatriot. "And what of?"
"Only last night. I don't know why he died, and I don't care either. Nocreature does."
"And his money? He had squirelled away a great deal of it over the years," the one with no moustache enquired.
"He hasn't given it to me, mostly to his company. Buyouts for the firm have started, and it's going pretty cheap. The funeral will be pretty cheap as well."
Grogar did not know why this trivial conversation was of such importance, but it must somehow have some bearing upon him, as they could scarcely be discussing the death of Tirek. This was the future, after all.
No sooner had they observed this, they appeared in a shop of many things, a place where old items such as windows, mirrors, bottles, doors, and many other random items were sold for the most trivial of prices in exchange for bits, the crucial currency of life. At the desk sat an old grey unicorn in a red cloak, as he observed two mares step forward into the shop, dragging two large sacks behind them.
"Let me be the first!" said the first, in an Austrneighian accent. "Then Holliday next, and finally anybody else who wants to dispense this rubbish. Look here, Neighsay! There's a real bargain here under your nose!"
"So I see," the unicorn sighed. "You couldn't have met in a better place, as we're not strangers. What do you have to sell?"
"Only the stuff that Lofty described," said the other mare, whom Grogar established was Holliday. "After all, who's the worst for losing a few things? The dead most certainly aren't."
"If the old screw had wanted to keep them after his death, why wasn't he more natural when he was alive?" Lofty asked rhetorically. "Let's open this lot up, and see what we've got."
Inside was an entire tangle of things, ranging from pokers to...
"Bed curtains? I had no clue he had such a thing."
"He kept them in his loft," Holliday explained. "He was too cheap to install them."
Moments later, they saw an empty, unfurnished room, empty, devoid of life, and with a sheet over the occupant of the bed, seemingly deceased.
Grogar's jaw dropped in horror. "The case of this unfortunate being might be my own! Is this true, Spirit?"
The Changeling motioned for him to be quiet, and before long they were somewhere else again. This time, they were back in the home of Sandbar and Ocellus, only to see three creatures sitting around the table, not four. In the centre of the table was a tapestry, a depiction of a Half Changeling, with the words In loving memory of Lakeheart.
Ocellus looked to be on the verge of tears. "I can scarcely believe it," she whispered. "Our dear Lakeheart, gone."
Labrum looked up to her mother. "I know father said to be strong," she said, "but he does seem to trot a little slower than he used to, and takes his time in the streets."
Just then, the door opened, and a tired, dishevelled, broken Sandbar stepped in. His eyes were red and bleary, and he closed the door behind him and took a seat. "This looks like a fine piece of work," he said. "You will be done long before the funeral."
"Is there a date?" Ocellus asked Sandbar.
Her husband nodded. "I've picked out a spot upon the mountains overlooking Canterlot. He always wanted to travel and see the world, and he can see it all from up there. I suppose now, he'll be free to travel as he wishes, separated from his bonds." Sandbar broke down in that instant. No creature would condemn him for doing so. If he hadn't, he and his son would have been further apart than they would have been.
A chill went up Grogar's spine. "I sense our time is nearly passed," he said to the Spirit. "What do you have to show me?"
In that moment, they were once more elsewhere, and they were in amongst the tombstones of an old, decrepid graveyard, filled with tombstones that were so faded and broken that nobody could see what was written upon them. The spirit pointed to one.
"Before I look," asked Grogar, "are these shadows you have shown me the shadows of what will be, or what might be?"
There was, as before, no reply.
"These events can be changed," the ram continued, his voice desparate. "Tell me it is so with what you show me!"
As usual, there was no reply. Grogar edged forward, and looking at the tombstone, he read his own name.
GROGAR
Grogar let out a cry of despair. "Am I the one whose death they were discussing? No, no! I am not the ram I once was but for this intercourse! Why would you show me this if I was past all hope?"
He moved closer to the Spirit, his voice shaking as tears leaked from his eyes. "I swear I will honour Hearth's Warming with all my heart, and honour it each and every day. I will live in the Past, the Present, and the Future, and will keep the Spirit of Hearth's Warming within me. I will not shut out the lessons they teach! Oh tell me I may sponge away the writing on this stone!"
As he reached forward with his hoof to take the hoof of the spirit, he suddenly went clean through her.
Grogar fell forward through the spirit and fell clean onto his bed. His bed, and his own bedsheets too! The bed was his own, and the room was his own. Best of all, the time was his own, to make all necessary amends in!
Sliding open his window, he heard the best, most glorious peals coming from the steeple of the Royal Palace. Wondrous, golden bells and messengers of happiness! Grogar glanced down to a young colt with a white and brown coat and brown mane. "What's today?"
"Huh?" the colt replied, his voice containing hints of a Trottingham accent.
"What's today, my fine fellow?" Grogar asked again.
"Today? Why, it's Hearth's Warming Day, sir! That's what it is!"
Grogar laughed, the first time he had done so in a long time. "Hearth's Warming Day! I haven't missed it! The spirits did it all in one night!" Seeing the colt looking at him in confusion, he spoke again. "I do say, my good fellow, do you know the poulterer's down the street? The one at the intersection?"
"Why, yes!" the colt replied. "The one that serves mainly dragons."
"Have they sold the prize turkey yet? The big one?"
"The one as big as me?"
"Why yes, the very same! What a delight you are to talk to!"
"Why, it is!"
Grogar suddenly tossed a bag filled with coins in it. "Go out and buy it. Tell them to bring it here, and I shall direct them where to take it. Come back with the stallion or mare delivering it, and I shall give you fifty bits. Come back within five minutes and I shall give you one hundred!"
The colt shot away like a bullet, and Grogar retreated inside, shutting his window, and proceeding to light up every room like never before. The entire place glowed with warmth and happiness, and Grogar shovelled some more coal onto the fire. Then he turned to writing the address for the turkey. "I'll send it to Sandbar!"
The mouth with which he wrote the address was not steady, but he wrote it nontheless. Then came a knock at the door, and Grogar went to answer it. It was a turkey! There was never a chance he could have stood upon his legs, that old bird. They'd have snapped right off!
Grogar handed him the label, and paid for a cab to take him to his destination, reasoning that the fine stallion could never carry it on his own. Once that was done, he set off into the streets, and observed the happiness all around him, happiness to which, but 12 hours ago, he would scarcely have been a party to. He arrived at Discord's home, and knocked on the door on his twelth attempt. The mare who answered it looked at him apprehensively.
"Oh my!" she said, albeit not seeing any lions or tigers or bears. "You're the last creature I was expecting to see today."
"My dearest apologies for how I have spoken to and treated you," Grogar replied. "Is Discord in? I wish to speak to him, for I have many amends to make."
Quick as a flash, Discord was right beside the ram. But the dragonequus' antics never surprised him anymore, not least because he was used to them. "I daresay, Grogar. What brings you here on Hearth's Warming Day?"
"I chose to answer your invite," Grogar replied. "I have come to dinner. Will you let me in, even after all I have done?"
In that moment, the two were teleported into the sitting room, and Grogar had a cup of tea in front of him. "Of course!" Discord replied. "Shall we begin?"
Nothing could have been merrier that fine day. Nothing could be heartier. Mrs Shy, visiting for the special occasion to meet her son in law, looked just the same. So did Zephyr when he came. So did every one when they came. Wonderful party, wonderful games, wonderful unanimity, wonderful happiness!
But the moment it turned to the day after, Grogar was back in his office to catch Sandbar coming late. He arrived especially early, and sat at his desk to wait.
It struck 9. No Sandbar. A quarter past. Still no Sandbar. At last, eighteen minutes past the start of the day, Sandbar charged into the office, snow flying off his coat and mane, and he sped into his tiny office and grabbed the quill, trying to complete eighteen minutes of work in but a fraction of that time.
"Hello!" Grogar growled, or as close as he could feign his old growl. "What sort of time do you call this?"
Sandbar trembled as he entered Grogar's office. "S-sorry, sir. I-I'm rather behind my time, I suppose."
"That," Grogar replied, "was a very poor choice of words. You are very much behind your time. Step this way, please."
Sandbar continued to shake as he closed in on Grogar's desk. "I-it was only once a year, sir, and it shall never happen again!"
Grogar's eyes narrowed. "Sandbar," he snarled, his voice rising as he spoke to a thunderous crescendo, "I am not going to stand for this any longer. And therefore I am about to raise your salary!"
Sandbar, still trembling, looked up into Grogar's eyes in confusion. "What?" In the eyes of the old ram, he saw not meanness nor hatred, but compassion.
"A Happy Hearth's Warming, Sandbar," said Grogar, placing his hoof on Sandbar's shoulder. "A Happier Hearth's Warming than I have given you in many a long year. I shall raise your salary, and endeavour to support your family however they need, and we shall discuss your affairs today, at lunch in the finest cafe in town! Make up the fires, and purchase some more coal before you dot another 'i', Sandbar!"
Grogar was better than his word. He did all of this, and even more, and to tiny little Lakeheart, who did not die, he became something of a second father. He became as good a friend, as good an employer, as good a gentleram, and as good a creature in the City of Canterlot, or any other city for that matter. Some were slow to see the change in him, and laughed; but Grogar ignored them. His own heart laughed, and that was enough for him.
He never did see the spirits again, but he did live by their lessons and warnings, and none knew better than him how to keep the spirit of Hearth's Warming, if anycreature alive possessed the knowledge. And so, as little Lakeheart observed;
John De Lancie-Discord Doc Harris-Grogar Scott McNeil-Flam, other guests Sam Vincent-Flim Vincent Tong-Sandbar Mark Acheson-Tirek Sunni Westbrook-Cozy Glow Andrea Libman-Miss Puddinghead, Grogar's former love, Fluttershy Rachel Bloom-Autumn Blaze Devyn Dalton-Ocellus Kazumi Evans-Labrum Kathy Weseluck-Lakeheart Ryan Beil-Zephyr Breeze Saffron Henderson-Lofty Maurice LaMarche-Neighsay Jackie Blackmore-Holliday Graham Verchere-Pipsqueak
