It was mid-morning, and the pegasi were pushing the last of the gray clouds away behind the hills, making the snowfall retreat in a shimmering curtain toward the sun. A stout aproned mare leaned against a broomstick at the outskirts of Ponyville far below, shielding her eyes while she watched them work. In twos and threes the fliers disappeared from view into the light.
She huffed and resumed sweeping the ragged welcome mat at her doorstep. "Go on now, Leadweight you old lump," she muttered to herself. "If you were an hourglass your sand would fall a day and not a second less, I swear. Princess'll be here and then what? You want the first thing for her to see's a pile of snow in front of your door? Weatherbirds just turned the lights up. Gotta be a sign. Be here in a nervous heartbeat, she will."
She wiped the sweat from her brow with her striped mauve scarf, peering up towards Canterlot's distant towers. There against the sea-blue backdrop of the sky, a metal glint was growing bigger and bigger.
"Oh goodness. See? A sign, sure as the robins coming to call when the snow melts. Come on, Leadweight, finish up. And remember your manners. Please, Your Highness. Thank you, Your Highness. I'm sorry, Your Highness." She jumped and set back to work, the bristles of her broom swishing back and forth in a blur.
"Featherweight?" she called at the door. "Start the tea, honey, our guest will be here any ..." She jumped again at the sound of heavy wheels crunching the snow behind her.
"Oh ... oh my. Featherweight! Get that tea started! She's here! They're here ... oh my goodness ..." She spun so fast that her scarf unraveled from her neck and spiraled down onto the path she had dug through the rolling white drifts.
It landed at the gleaming hooves of Princess Celestia, who stood with her wings spread broad as sails in the blinding light, her crowned head towering above a pair of steel-eyed guards. "Ms. Leadweight! How wonderful to see you again! And how kind of you to spare me the chill of the snow."
Leadweight dropped her broom and bowed until she felt the cold hard ground against her nose. "Thank you, Princess Celestia. You're most welcome, Princess Celestia. Please grace our humble home with your majestic, radiant, beneficent ... serene ... stalwart ..."
Celestia chuckled. "Come now, Ms. Leadweight! Didn't I tell you last fall that there's no need for decorum between us?" Her pegasus guards had unhitched themselves from the golden harnesses of the royal chariot and darted to her side. Before Leadweight could rise, they had proceeded past and stationed themselves next to her door.
Leadweight rose from the gravel, cringing at the sight of the guards' expressionless faces. "Of course, Princess. How ... how silly of me!" She scooped her scarf and broom out of the icy dirt, and gave Celestia a chattering smile. "Please, won't you c-c-come in out of the cold and honor us at our t-table for tea?"
Celestia nodded and smiled back with her one unconcealed eye. "That would be most delightful!" She strode forward to keep pace with Leadweight, who was retreating backwards, sweeping the path before her visitor's golden-shod hooves. "Actually, I've taken my leave from court for the rest of the day," the princess continued. "Do let's chat. Chat away the whole morning, for all I care!"
When they reached the cottage, Leadweight propped the broom against the wall and ducked inside, hurrying to the table. "Featherweight, did you ... you didn't! Oh my goodness, Featherweight, where are you? Didn't you hear me calling? She's here and the water's cold, the dishes aren't set, and ... the sugar!"
The white china bowl that held the teatime sweetener had fallen from its place on the shelf below the spice rack. Its smooth pieces lay half buried in the sandy powder.
Leadweight stood next to the jagged pile, snorting and looking back and forth between it and her guest. "Oh Featherweight, what's gotten into you? You were such a ... please excuse me, Your Highness. I have plenty more in the cupboard. I'll just have to serve it to you in a, a ... saucer? No ... I-I ..."
Celestia raised her foreleg, calling for silence. "Right Hoof?"
The guard's white muzzle poked through the door. "Your Highness!" he barked.
"Make a note. Arrange for one sugar bowl to be delivered to Ms. Leadweight by the end of the day tomorrow."
"Yes, Your Highness!"
Leadweight wrung her hooves together, ducking her head below her knees. "Oh Princess, it was our blunder. You don't have to ..."
"Oh, and Right Hoof, make it a nice one." Celestia winked at Leadweight. "How about mother of pearl inlay?"
"Well, if you insist, Your Highness ..." said Leadweight, covering her grin with a hoof.
"Celestia, my dear, Celestia. And I do insist. A mare's kitchen is her palace!" She pointed her long white horn toward the shattered sugar bowl. Wrapping it in her golden glow, she gathered all the pieces and spilled sugar and conveyed them to the trash bin. "A saucer will do just fine for today. Shall we sit while we wait for the water to boil?"
"Oh my, yes! Please, take your pick," said Leadweight. She gestured towards the dented hardwood table that took up the cottage's modest dining room. Three places were half-set with teacups, turned upside down on chipped pink dishes.
"Splendid!" Celestia lowered her giant frame into one of the hickory chairs. "You have such a charming home, Ms. Leadweight. I trust you and Featherweight are happy here?"
"Happy? Yes, I guess you could say that. Happy as hares in a lettuce garden," Leadweight replied, wincing at how Celestia was stooped beneath the straw ceiling. "I'm sorry, Celestia, I wish we could better accommodate ponies of your ... uh ... stature. We're of humble means. Please don't be offended ..."
"Nothing to worry about, Ms. Leadweight," Celestia intoned, her voice calm and gentle. Her billowing mane and tail lapped at the hearthstones and walls, flooding the drab room with color. "We can only do our best. I assure you that you've made me feel most welcome."
Leadweight blushed, smoothing out her apron. "Oh, thank you. That's such a relief! So, let's see. We've prepared shortcake and homemade mint tea for you. I hope you like it."
She went to the kitchen. After filling her kettle, she scraped a match against a cheese grater and held its flame to the stove's burner. When it had coughed to life, she returned to the dining room with a platter of shortcake wedges, and clean rags for napkins and place mats.
"Please allow me, Your Highness." She arranged two of the rags in front of Celestia, who dipped her head in thanks. Leadweight placed two crumbling wedges onto her guest's plate and set the platter in the center of the table. "So when did you first meet Featherweight, if you don't mind my asking?" she said, taking the only other seat not occupied by Celestia's mane.
Celestia turned to look outside, searching the flawless bright blanket of snow through the window. "Oh, not at all. It was when the schoolchildren were working on their newspaper, and little Featherweight spied me indulging in one of my favorite treats." She smirked and took a bite of cake.
Leadweight all but toppled out of her chair. "Oh, that Gabby Gums nonsense? I'm sorry ... I mean, I didn't intend anything ... that must have been so embarrassing. Please just forget I mentioned it."
"It's quite alright. It's just .. you know, it's funny. I was something of a health enthusiast in my youth. I obeyed a strict diet, only the freshest greens and produce. Not a grain of sugar. Then one day ... when was it? Ah yes, at a birthday party being held for a little colt I was foalsitting. Mother insisted that we ward children as a lesson in leadership. 'Those who command must learn to care,' she'd always say."
Out of sight down the hall, there was a bump, followed by the rapid patter of little hooves.
Celestia licked the crumbs from her lips, shifting her weight. "Pardon. Where was I? Yes, it was at the birthday party that I, ah, slipped. I took a nibble. It was just a small piece, to clean off the child's plate. A—" her gaze wandered to the hall "—a cake, the ... the bottom half. He'd already eaten the frosting. Foals do so like frosting."
Leadweight was bobbing her head up and down. "That's so charming! A princess foalsitter. What with your duties I could hardly imagine you royals have the time to chase the little scrappers and keep them busy. I have a hard enough time with just one, especially now that he's ..."
"I remember being ever so grateful to his mother," Celestia cut in. "If only you could have seen the look! The look on her face when I hugged her, and thanked her. She didn't have a clue, of course. She baked the best angel food." Her rosy eyes sparkled, full of memories. The hiss of steam from the kitchen began to sharpen to a sibilant whimper.
Celestia rested her forelegs on the table, her weight angling it down towards her. Her half-empty dish clanked against her shoe. "It was just a piece. No one saw. No one complained. Nothing wrong with something sweet, every now and then ..."
The teakettle's whine rose to a steady, quiet scream.
"Nothing wrong with that," she smiled, leaning forward. "Is there?"
"Oh ho ho ... no, of course there's nothing wrong with that!" Leadweight spluttered, backing away from the table. She stood up to go to the kitchen. "Who doesn't like a ... a snack, a biscuit or two to soak up their tea with?" She hurried into the other room without waiting for an answer.
"Who indeed?" Celestia sighed. "Do you know how old I am, Ms. Leadweight?"
Leadweight returned with the steaming kettle and two tarnished tea balls packed with pungent brown leaves. She shook her head as she poured. "Mercy, no."
Celestia nodded her thanks once more and flicked her forelock out of her eyes, "It's difficult, you know. I say it is very difficult, keeping every hoofstep poised at knee's height, waiting for the Saddle Arabian king's daughter to unfold her napkin before donning yours, smiling in court at the farmers as they fight the merchants as they fight the nobles, paying mind to every word, the inflection, the diction, the brevity. Raising the ..." Her eyes lost focus again, seeing images of other times and places, or nothing at all. "Raising the sun."
There was another bump from somewhere else in the cottage. Tiny wings were brushing against wood, as if a bird had flown in through the window and gotten caught inside. The princess's chair creaked as she shifted again.
"Poor Celestia gets tired sometimes. Sometimes ... sometimes Celestia just needs some sunshine."
Leadweight looked down at her shortcake.
The princess cleared her throat, taking a sip of tea. "Featherweight seems like such a happy colt. I know he's very passionate about his photography, and now his newspaper, I understand. Editor-in-chief! Are there any games or toys that he favors?"
"Toys? Well, I'm sorry, but ... I think he's grown out of toys. He hasn't opened his treasure chest – that's what he used to call it – in weeks. As for games ... he used to like fly-and-seek. Did you see him playing that at all, maybe, with the other children at the Gymnasium for High-Flying Pegasi?"
"Well, no, I'm afraid there isn't much time for games with our curriculum. The students spend most of their time in the classroom, or with me, for ... personal instruction." Celestia lifted the remaining portion of cake from her plate and popped it into her mouth.
"Oh, I see, I ..." Leadweight rubbed behind one ear. "Celestia, can I please – and I don't mean to step outside my bounds – can I please ask you something, mare to mare?"
Celestia studied her fidgeting host. "Of course, my dear. Ask me anything you like."
"It's Featherweight. I'm worried. He avoids the snow like it's going to avalanche on him any second. Won't eat his potatoes, or his parsnips or his rice, and – this is really quite embarrassing for a foal his age – he stopped, you know, using the potty. He's had accidents. A mother worries."
Leadweight tapped her hooftips together, casting about the rafters as if they could tell her what to say. A stray sunbeam reflected from her spoon caught her attention. She began rolling it back and forth, tracing an uncertain line on the stained straw of the ceiling. "I remember the day … oh what a good boy he was. I remember the day we got your letter, all rolled up proper and sealed in red ribbon, inviting him to the Gymnasium. My own Featherweight, a Canterlot scholar! He was so happy. Polished up his camera … combed his mane … filled his binder with loose-leaf. Did he ... and please forgive me for asking – I don't mean to imply anything – did he show signs of peculiar behavior when he was with you last year? Do you think he's alright?"
Celestia canted her head and grinned a flawless white grin, flexing her cramped wings. The brilliant light from the window spilled though her tresses, multiplying the sparkles and lights that were dancing around her shoulders and brow. "Oh, I'm sure it's nothing to worry about. Life in Canterlot takes some adjusting for most of my students. It's nerves, nothing more. I can guarantee you that he's performed splendidly the times I had him one-on-one, so much so that I've taken him on for additional lessons. Flying colors, every time."
A child's high, thin voice murmured from behind a closed door down the hall. "Snowtime. Not goin'. Snowtime, for ever and ever."
"Mmm ..." Celestia swayed her neck to the side to see past Leadweight down the length of the cottage. After a moment of listening, she nudged her plate forward with a hooftip. "My, I feel a bit warm for tea of a sudden. Might we break for a spell and see if we can't find our little gentlecolt?"
"I suppose it's time," Leadweight replied, setting her teacup down. "Maybe, if you don't mind, you could give him a talking-to before ..."
"Right Hoof." The princess had already stood and was walking around the table.
The white muzzle reappeared. "Your Highness!"
"Please retrieve my travel purse from the chariot."
"At once, Your Highness!"
"Not going!" came a muffled shriek from one of the other rooms. The scrape of wings on wood resumed, faster and more urgent than before.
Celestia giggled behind her hoof. "Oh how precious! He's playing fly-and-seek! You see? As I said, Ms. Leadweight. Nothing to worry about."
The front door opened, letting in a blast of cold winter morning air. Right Hoof stomped in, bits of frost falling from his hoary armor. He carried a white, sun-adorned saddlebag in his mouth.
When he had knelt and bowed his head, Celestia took the bag with her magic and buckled it on. "We'll be leaving shortly, Right Hoof. Why don't you go on ahead and prepare the chariot for our departure. Let Ten Hut know we're to be back in Canterlot within five minutes."
"As you wish, Your Highness," Right Hoof replied, clasping a foreleg to his chest. "Ma'am," he said, nodding to Leadweight. He turned and left, his dun tail whipping against the doorframe.
"Let's see, where could our little stallion be hiding?" Celestia spoke into the silence of the hall. Her mane and tail filled the narrow space, forcing Leadweight to trail behind.
"Oh, he'll probably be in his bedroom," Leadweight chimed, "but we'd better check the others too, just in case. The one on the right there is the bathroom."
"Ah. Let's take a peek," Celestia whispered. She eased the plywood door open. "Featherweight, dear? Are you in here? It's me, Celie. Are we still best friends? Come out, sweetie, we're going home to Canterlot."
Leadweight burrowed her way under Celestia's mane and peered into the dark room. "Featherweight, you in here? You heard the princess. She wants to leave now and you're holding up the works. I've got a gum drop for you if you come out ... oh dear me ..."
The toilet seat was askew on its hinges, its smooth white porcelain dented and scarred all over. Celestia lit a small amber light at the tip of her horn. Its soft glow fell on a layer of old editions of the Foal Free Press that covered the tiled floor. She scanned the faded images of herself, caught in profile, mouth wide open to take in another slice of cake. Most were blotted with ink, dumped no doubt from the sticky bottles that lay strewn across the pages. Celestia stepped over them and looked into the scaly, mildewed bathtub. Featherweight was nowhere to be seen.
"Dear stars, how am I going to pay for that?" Leadweight sighed. "I guess we’ll cross that bridge later. Let's try my bedroom next." She backed up to clear the way for Celestia. "He'll hide there sometimes after I've scolded him for not eating his dinner. Next door on the right."
Celestia nodded and raised her hoof to knock. "Oops, what's this? There's something else on the ..." She pointed her lighted horn down, revealing a scattered pile of polaroids, all of them of blurry brown and pitch black.
Leadweight pushed forward again and opened the door. "Featherweight, what is the meaning of all this mess? Where are you ... Featherweight!"
All of the sheets had been pulled off the mattress and thrown into a heap on the floor. They were soaked with black ink.
"The sheets too? Oh Featherweight, this isn't like you. I'm so upset. Princess, he's a good boy, he really is. I just don't know what's gotten into him of late. He's in his bedroom, sure enough. Please, Celestia, your wisdom is famous throughout Equestria. You said you have experience with the young ones. Is there anything you can do?"
Celestia patted Leadweight's shoulder and used her magic to open the last door in the hallway. "Featherweight, honey?" she called as she entered. "I had a long talk with your mother. I told her all about the special time we spend together. She's really excited for you to come back to the Gymnasium with me."
Featherweight's bedroom was darker than the dining room, the shades pulled and the curtains shut. A small bed, a dresser, a box of dusty toys and a clothes hamper were the only furnishings it held.
Leadweight opened one of the dresser drawers. "Featherweight?" She checked the next one down. Finding nothing but folded pants and dress shirts, she shook her head at Celestia and shrugged.
A soft growl and a sniffle sounded from the direction of the bed.
Celestia smiled, giving Leadweight a long-lashed wink. She captured the bed with her golden light, battered wooden frame and all, and raised it into the air. There was Featherweight, hunched near the wall where the headboard had been, chewing and tearing at a white pegasus plush doll. A wad of stuffing was poking out of its shrunken neck.
Leadweight stamped her hoof. "Featherweight, you naughty colt! Stop that and come over here this instant! I've half a mind to ..."
Celestia leaned down and draped a wing around her. "It's fine, Ms. Leadweight. It's his nerves, as I said. I know just the thing to put him at ease." She started toward Featherweight, mindful of her horn and crown gouging the low ceiling. Her swishing tail fanned the dresser and floor.
"Hey there, my little sunbeam!"
Featherweight tensed, crouching low to the floor. His widened eyes met Celestia's calm, sidelong gaze. Before she could say another word, he flew into the corner and banged his head. Tears spilled down his cheeks as he began digging at the floor with his hooves.
Celestia reached under his scrabbling forelegs and lifted him away from the ruined plaything. Tossing her mane back out of her eyes, she set the bed down and pressed his face against her chest.
"There there, I'm here now. Look," she said, shifting him to the side so he could see her cutie mark, "the sun's come out! Remember the sun? Are you as happy as I am, sweetie? Listen, we'll take just a short ride back to Canterlot. You can stay with me for a while, if that helps. After that I'll give you Right Hoof to watch over you wherever you go. I promise promise promise nothing's going to hurt my little stallion, ever. Not one hair on his precious head!"
She tried to give him a peck on his nose, but her fumbling lips couldn't avoid covering his muzzle. "Kiss!" she laughed, leaving a ring of clear lip gloss around his tiny snout.
He stared cross-eyed where she'd kissed him, dazed by the sudden smell of strawberries and mint and mouth. His little chest began to heave, his wings straining against Celestia's gentle embrace. He gave a push against her massive shoe and twisted, breaking free and kicking into the air.
"Princess!" Leadweight shouted. She leapt and fell with a crash. Featherweight darted away from her into Celestia's mane, making to squeeze through into the hall.
The waving, weaving tresses stopped him dead, as fast as a mayfly in gossamer. He screamed and fought, wrapped tight in the bright sparkling locks, pink and blue and green, inches from his goal. The more he struggled, the more entangled he became. His flailing grew weaker and weaker, and after a few minutes he went still, bound tip to tail in the center of Celestia's crown.
She chuckled, bracing the golden arc so that it wouldn't slip. "Ms. Leadweight, could you help me?"
"Of course, Your Highness," said Leadweight, rubbing her shoulder. She reached up and unwrapped her son from Celestia's hair, squeezing him tight between her hooves. His legs and wings swung as she glared at him, his coat thick with lavender mane oil and Celestia's own buttery warm scent.
"What’s the matter with you, you silly colt?" Leadweight shouted into his face. "Don’t you want to go with the princess? Go to Canterlot and make something of yourself?" She gave him a quick shake. "Answer me now! No more of this gibberish!"
Featherweight hung where she held him. "No, mama," he murmured, his delicate lips curling downward. "They give me blank pages, wide open, open wide they tell me, and there are no words or pictures. They don’t teach me any words. You don’t need your camera or your press or your quill. Not going."
"No words?" Leadweight asked, trying to catch his eye under his messy mane. "Well then what do they teach you?"
"Every beam of light is a race between waves, each with its own name. When they fly together they jumble, and make white. Seven of them. White is the first and only color. That is where your text begins. White is the first and only color. Don’t wanna go. Not going."
"Not going, huh?" Leadweight yelled. She shook him again, and a third time to flip his mane back out of his face. "You want to live here with me, watch me grow old along with these tired drapes and doorhandles and floorboards? You like eating the wildflowers growin’ by the rubbish heap out back when the rain don’t come? Muckin’ around in that nasty tub every night? I spent my whole life in this house and stars help me I’m gonna die in it. Not you. You can’t be nothin’ around here!"
"I can … I can … I can …"
"No you can’t! There ain’t no news in Ponyville." Leadweight lowered her voice, using the crook of her foreleg to brush her wet nose and eyes. "You really want to stay, watch your mother grow old?"
Featherweight’s head sagged forward again. "No, mama."
"There now. There. I’m … I’m very sorry, Princess. I lost my composure for a moment, that’s all. That’s all it was. I’m terribly sorry." Leadweight hugged her son to her chest, looking for a sign of pardon from Celestia.
"There’s no need for a guilty conscience, Ms. Leadweight. The important thing is that we got the result we wanted," said the princess. "Featherweight will be safe in here, my dear." The top of her purse turned up, curling in the golden grip of her magic.
Featherweight began whispering again as his mother walked him to Celestia’s side. "She dresses me in gold. Washes me in light. There are seven of them. Every color of the rainbow, each special and unique, and each with its own name." His voice cracked. "Six hundred and fifty. Five hundred and ninety. Five hundred and seventy. Five hundred … f-five hundred and ten …"
Leadweight lowered him through the leathery flaps of the purse and let him go. His limp body slid down the pink silken lining to the bottom, past hardened cake crumbs and dried flowers, down onto a pile of trinkets and jewels stowed there and neglected for decades, or centuries. His camera broke free from its fixture around his neck and settled on top of his head.
Celestia pulled the drawstring tight with her teeth. "There we are. Nice and snug for our little trip back to the castle. My dapper little stallion. So sweet." She turned and paraded into the hall.
Leadweight followed close behind, glancing back now and again at the empty room. "Oh, there he goes. Do you think you could help him with his nerves? His education is so important. How will he learn if he's so worked up? Is it really ten whole years, this time? It troubles me something fierce ... keeps me up all night ..."
Celestia’s tail swished and whirled in front of her like a receding flood, sweeping the loose photographs across the floor, blackened and muddy leaves of last year’s autumn. "Will all of that about blank pages and … what did he say … text? Will that really help him make newspapers?"
"Oh, I don’t know. I’m sure the faculty know what they’re doing. If you can’t trust the experts, whom can you trust?" Celestia kept walking, her attention all on her saddlebag. "Thank you so much, Ms. Leadweight. You'll be happy to hear that I've decided to waive Featherweight's tuition. The special ones like him are a ... gift to the kingdom." They had returned to the dining room. The princess sat and took a moment to brush the tangles out of her mane, arranging herself for her journey. "And as a token of gratitude to you ... Ten Hut, Right Hoof?"
The door slammed open, admitting the chill air and blinding light of the Ponyville winter. "Yes, Your Highness!"
"Once we're back and organized, please send word to the stonemasons' and plumbers' guilds. Ms. Leadweight is to have each of her rooms remodeled after the fashion of the Royal Suites in Canterlot Palace."
Leadweight held the back of one hoof to her forehead, swaying on her hind legs. "Oh my goodness ... that's ... that's amazing!"
"There is to be not a speck of dirt within these walls," Celestia continued. "And one more thing."
"Your Highness?" the guards responded as one.
"Have a cake delivered to Ms. Leadweight each year on her son's birthday," she said, nuzzling her saddlebag. "Angel food." She smiled and ran a hoof back over her mane one last time before heading toward the door.
Leadweight was blinking her watering eyes, shading them while she beamed. "Oh dear me ... oh my ... that's wonderful, thank you, but ... will I ever ... can I visit him, sometimes?"
But Celestia had already left, her guards marching in line with her down the path, now all but erased by snowdrifts. By the time Leadweight had stepped outside and her eyes had adjusted to the light, the royal chariot was up among the clouds, disappearing into the bright infinite blue of the sky.
Author's Note
Dedicated to J.S. and friends.
Influenced (subconsciously?) by the song "Mother" by Pink Floyd, and the local news.
