THWUMP. THWUMP. THWUMP.
Three knocks reverberated throughout the rural French castle, the echoes hinting of both desperation and urgency. Glancing out of one of the library’s many windows, a lean, light brown haired man, barely an adult, observed the flurry of snowflakes as their wintry congregation continued unabated. The regal features of his face quickly became sullen and dark, and his deep blue eyes focused on the storm outside. The man’s curiosity was mildly piqued by the unexpected disturbance, but curiosity was quickly replaced by outrage at the presumptive peasant who dared come to call at this late hour.
Unannounced visitors to the palatial residence were almost unheard of; visitors during a snowstorm doubly so. He set down the book he had been reading--some olden fairy tale from his youth. He fondly recalled the librarian who gifted the novel to him, taking him back to simpler times when life was less demanding. Standing up from his lounge chair, he stretched his lanky joints just as the castle’s majordomo cracked the library’s door open. As their eyes met, the newcomer bowed without hesitation.
“Your highness, we have a…a visitor! Shall I see to them?”
“No, Monsieur Cogsworth. I shall attend to this matter…personally.” The last word came out as a low growl, betraying the noble’s normally placid demeanor.
As the angry young man made his way down to the foyer, three more knocks resounded, the interval between each knock the same as the last set. Fixing a scowl upon his face, the prince grabbed a cloak from the closet, wrapping it around himself before opening the door and confronting whoever had the temerity to visit HIS castle and disrupt HIS reading time.
As he peered out the open door, he found a haggard beggar woman standing upon the front steps. She shivered as a shaky hand reached beneath her flimsy cloak to retrieve something. Her other hand clutched a crooked staff, and it was apparent that her weight was placed upon it. She bowed slightly as the door opened, and one good eye settled upon the warmly dressed prince.
“Most gracious lord, I have lost my horse, my coinpurse, and my way in the blizzard. Please, let me in from the cold. These bones are too old and frail to go any further. In exchange, I offer this, my most prized possession.” Pulling out the object from her cloak, the woman held out a beautiful red rose near its petals, offering it toward the petulant prince.
Although he saw that the rose was quite lovely, winter was no time for flowers, and he had plenty of high quality fake ones. He could feel the anger inside him rising, which was tempered only by the frigid winds howling through the open door.
“I’m not in the mood for silk flowers, old woman. And this is not a boarding house. If you seek accommodations, try the village inn. Good night, and adieu.” He half-turned away from the crone, but she spoke again, demanding his attention before he could return to the comforting warmth within the castle.
“Do not be fooled by appearances. Like so many things, it is not what is outside, but what is inside, that counts.” Gingerly taking a step forward, she raised the hand holding the rose, indicated her desire for him to accept it.
“I’ve heard enough.” He held his hand up flat towards the rose in a clear sign of refusal.
“Be gone, hag.”
The prince pointed away from the castle, and fiery indignation burned in his selfish eyes as he gestured for the beggar to return to the darkness from whence she came.
A brilliant flash briefly surprised him, and the spoiled noble slipped backward on a slick patch of ice. After regaining his balance, he turned to see that the hag was indeed gone, but in her place, a bewitchingly beautiful woman stood, her right hand still holding the offered rose. In place of the crooked staff, a gold-tipped silver wand glowed with eerie illumination.
Eyes wide with fear, the prince backed away slowly. With every step backward, the enchantress stepped forward, her wavy and lustrous golden hair gently moving as the storm raged on. She tucked the rose back into the folds of her now shimmering and warm looking cloak.
“Please….don’t hurt me….”
His request for clemency fell upon deaf ears, and the enchantress grabbed his face with a now free hand. Forcing him to look upon her, he could see the terrible beauty and power behind her icy stare. Ensured of his attention, the hag/enchantress spoke to him, her words sharp as daggers.
“Your heart is as cold as the winds that blow this eve. How does one, when every need is met, become so callous?”
Words escaped the young prince, who was gripped by abject terror at the woman who took the place of the hag. She released her grip upon his face, pushing him backwards slightly before she continued.
“I have half a mind to curse this entire castle into perpetuity. But I’ve seen into your frozen heart, and I know of a place that can make it thaw.”
Touching the glowing wand to the prince’s head, both enchantress and prince vanished from the snow-covered bridge, and reappeared in a darkened room where torn and tattered banners hung loosely from the walls. A broken chair sat several feet away, and a stained and dingy carpet in the center of the room showed hints of its former red color.
“It is fitting, then, that your new home should be the Castle of the Two Sisters.” The enchantress gestured toward an overgrown garden, where weeds and vines vied for sunlight filtering in from the canopy above. “There is healthy and nourishing food in this long abandoned garden. Fruits, nuts, and berries will keep you sustained, but you must tend to their health in turn. The trees nearby should serve as adequate firewood.”
The prince continued to cower, raising his eyes to look at the woman only after he heard her voice move away from him. He watched as she retrieved the rose from her delicately embroidered cloak, placing it on a sturdy wooden table. Waving her wand, she summoned a glass bell jar over the top of the rose, and the rose began to levitate and spin slowly, a gentle glow emanating from its petals.
“This rose is fragile, young prince. There is only one thing in creation more fragile and delicate: love. Before the last petal falls, you must fall in love, and be loved in return. Otherwise, your home and castle will be forever lost to you.
“But be warned—if you leave this castle, you will surely perish. “
The young man stood, dusting off some snowflakes that still clung to his cloak.
“So it’s either imprisonment or death? What game are you playing, sorceress? Where am I?”
As he turned his head to look at her, she was gone. The only proof she was ever here was the still glowing rose. The prince watched as a small red petal fell off the flower, gently descending to the bottom of the bell jar.
The scream of impotent rage that followed could be heard for miles, but none of the creatures of the Everfree Forest seemed to mind.
***Three Years Later***
“Do we really need three weeks to get the town prepared for the Summer Sun Celebration?”
Almost yelling over the sound of the rushing air around them, Spike turned and spoke to his companion, the eyebrows on his head arched quizzically. The small purple dragon scratched absentmindedly at his head’s green crest, adjusting it with a sense of determined futility in the face of rapid winds.
The lavender unicorn beside him seemed to pay no attention to how the wind affected her mane or tail, and her purple, rose-streaked locks tumbled and flowed wildly. Entranced by the current book she was reading, Twilight Sparkle bookmarked the page and set the book down on the carriage floor before addressing her number one assistant.
“Yes and no, Spike. We do need to get the town prepared for the celebration, and I also need time to check and recheck my checklists, but there’s something important I need to find. That’s…. going to take a while.” Half yelling herself, she dropped a few decibels lower, just so the pegasi guards up front would have less of a chance of hearing their conversation.
“Remember that book I read last month? The one about the Mare in the Moon? The prophecy is true, Spike, and I need to find the Elements of Harmony to send Nightmare Moon back to her prison when she escapes!”
Spike held up a rolled parchment in one of his claws, waving it back and forth.
“But Princess Celestia said you need to make some friends, you know, go out and….socialize?”
“We simply don’t have time for that kind of silliness, Spike. I am her student, and I’ll do my royal duty, but the fate of Equestria does not rest on me making friends.”
***
“Wow, Barrel Chest, you broke your old record! That’s uh, uh….seventeen barrels now!” A pudgy grey stallion counted each barrel loaded on to a sturdy oak cart, licking his lips in anticipation of drinking the barrel’s contents. On his flank was a cutie mark of a doormat. Beneath him, and outside of view, a bulked-up stallion lifted the cart into the air, all four hooves precariously balancing the weight of the cart.
“Let me down easy, eh Barrel?”
The stocky stallion who had been keeping the overloaded rig aloft quickly tucked his legs beneath him, letting the barrel-filled cart crash back into the ground. The sound startled a young colt nearby, who began crying and calling out for his mother. The grey-coated stallion smacked his face right into the barrel in front of him, and he rubbed his sore muzzle as he stepped down from where he had previously been sitting.
Pulling himself from beneath the cart, Barrel Chest stood up and stretched his limbs, flexing his foreleg and showing off for the mother who was trying to comfort her foal. His red fur glistened with a thin sheen of sweat, and his mane was braided in a long ponytail. Enormous muscles rippled just beneath his fur’s surface, and a bow accompanied by a quiver decorated his haunches, the cutie mark giving others insight into Barrel Chest’s special talent.
“That was too easy. I didn’t even break a sweat, Snivel. Not even with your fat flank sitting on the wagon this time.” The inflection in his voice was filled with contemptuous arrogance.
“Yeah, I don’t even think Big Macintosh could do seventeen barrels! I’ve seen him pull fifteen, but that’s not the same. Hey, I’ve got a great idea! Let me bring him here, we can have a few drinks, and you can rub it in his muzzle…”
Barrel Chest reached his hoof out, slapping Snivel in the back of the head. “I’ve got a better idea, Snivel. Let me come up with the ideas.”
“Ooch! Sorry, Boss.” While he rubbed the back of his head, the sycophant glanced up as a shadow from the sky swiftly passed overhead.
“Hey, Barrel,” he pointed a hoof skywards, “Check that out.”
Both stallions stared in wonder as a golden chariot pulled by royal guards flew towards the center of town.
“They must be from Canterlot…none of these weak and poor ponies could afford such a luxury. And you know what that means, Snivel?” The red earth pony grinned in anticipation.
“That…they….came from Canterlot?” Snivel shrugged his shoulders, unable to discern the answer to Barrel Chest’s rhetorical question.
Barrel’s reply was accompanied by a withering, angry stare.
“No, you foal. It means they have money. And money means business. C’mon.” Barrel Chest sprinted with ease, while the overweight earth pony behind him had a hard time trying to keep pace.
“What about the c…cider, Barrel?” Snivel huffed and wheezed, struggling to speak.
“The cider’s fine, you dolt. You won’t be if you keep yammering on like that.”