June fifth, Celestial year 1801, Lunar year 801.
Dear journal,
I’m back again in Ponyville. Ponyville has always been a source of sadness for me, a place of fond memories and the greatest of regrets. Upon treading her cobbled streets and feeling her humid evening breezes I’m thrown back to a time I’d previously put aside in my mind.
It was the end of May, I was a Sergeant in the Royal Guard and I’d spent most of the train journey polishing my armor and making small talk with the Corporal in my charge. We weren’t to discuss the assignment openly, and we had precious little in common to converse over so I busied myself with looking presentable.
Ponyville station was small and unassuming, as it is today, there were none waiting to greet us but we had simply to walk off of the platform to be in the town square. It was a hive of activity, ponies bustling about their morning chores, farm stallions pulling loaded carts with plump produce to sell and overhead pegasi swooped to and fro hanging colourful banners and stringing chains of coloured lanterns between the sloping thatched rooftops. There were signs and stalls, the melodic calls of costermongers and rhythmic clip-clop of horseshoes on stone almost gave the sleepy rural town a heartbeat of its own, as though wakening from an over-long hibernation.
Craning his neck to see the display, the Corporal walked awkwardly into an important-looking official levitating a clipboard, I made a note to remonstrate him on proper decorum whilst on-duty and apologized on his behalf.
The unicorn was brash but understanding and quickly resumed their duties, berating a pegasus who was flying backwards, knocking flowerpots from windowsills with their flank. When the filly opened their mouth to apologise, they dropped the banner they were hauling and it flopped onto the road, tripping a sturdy young stallion with a thick wooden horse-collar, and ripping the banner in two as it caught in the spokes of the cart he was pulling.
The corporal moved as to help extricate the vermillion earth pony, but I had to remind him we were on-task and had to make tracks for the mayor’s office by mid-morning.
The Town Hall stood across from the square, a tall circular building with a domed roof, stretching down to a wide covered veranda with a porch below. Ornately decorated and immaculately clean it needed little in the manner of festive regalia to stand out, like a centerpiece to the town itself.
We entered the foyer, neatly trimmed potted plants, each uniform in height, stood between chaise longues and varnished end tables, each with identical table lamps.The secretary was as presentable as the building itself, typing swiftly at a typewriter, her back straight and her eyes half-closed. As we approached the desk she ceased typing and looked at us over her half-moon spectacles.
"Yes, gentlemen, how may I help you?" she asked primly, her hooves pressed neatly together on the desk in front of her.
I had barely stated my name and rank when a door in the back wall swung open and a haggard-looking stallion in a bowler hat, waistcoat and monocle strode out complaining loudly, his heavy black moustache swaying with every consonant.
"Oh, dash it all Minerva, the garlands meant for the event have yet to arrive, the musicians forgot their sheet music and had to return to Appleoosa and the sign maker still needs to address the spelling errors on the banners. I mean really, I’m the Mayor of Ponyville, not Pomyville… oh, good morning gentlemen." The Mayor had been gesticulating so wildly his monocle had flown off and, upon replacing it he had noticed us standing in front of him.
"You are the ones I have been told to expect in the letter, I assume?" He asked, with the slightest hint of trepidation in his voice.
"We are" I replied curtly, the corporal nodding so furiously his helmet fell over his eyes.
"This is most irregular, you know." The Mayor had evidently been wound rather tight, as he could not stand still, instead checking his pocket watch, unnecessarily straightening paintings on the walls and pacing from one window to the next, peering out at the sky as though it might fall on his head.
"Not that I’m complaining you understand, it is of course a great honour, but all the same, there’s so much to be taken care of in advance. I simply cannot let Ponyville look such a shambles in front of so esteemed a guest, if only we had more time to prepare…" Looking as though he meant to go on, I stopped him, holding up a hoof.
"I’m sure your preparations will be more than adequate, from what I’ve seen everything looks to be progressing smoothly, Mister Mare"
"Why thank you, Sergeant, that does put my mind at ease somewhat. Can I invite you into my office so that we may discuss the arrangements?"
"That would be wise, yes. Please, after you." We followed him through the doorway in the back wall, standing aside he closed the door partially and addressed his secretary. "Minerva, would you please hold all callers whilst we are conversing?"
"Of course Sir" The sound of the typewriter started again.
"Oh, and would you please prepare a pot of peppermint tea for myself and our guests?"
"Very well, Sir" Minerva replied, still typing.
The Mayor made to close the door, but pushed his head through the gap once again. “And…” the Mayor began.
"A plate of those Dandelion macaroons you have such a fondness for? You know Mother disapproves of you snacking at work, it spoils your appetite." Minerva interjected.
"Well, um… yes, thank you Minerva." He closed the door sheepishly.
The Mayor's office was a tall room with a tremendous arched window bordered by thick drapes, that loomed over a solid oak desk. An emerald-hooded lamp illuminated the myriad of paperwork and executive toys that littered its surface, a long-necked pegasus toppled hypnotically back and forth, forever drinking from an empty teacup sat before it.
"Marvellous, isn't it?" The Mayor had seen me watching it bobbing rhythmically. "Made by one of our own Ponyville artisans" He stopped the toy gently and took a seat in his high-backed chair behind the desk, removing his monocle he polished it on his waistcoat "That Geppetto is one-of-a-kind I tell you."
Looking around the office I saw more greenery, flowering plants hanging in baskets from low swooping cross-beams, teetering piles of books and parchments upon every available surface and bookcases across the length of each wall filled with important-looking gold trimmed tomes and grimoires. A wrought-iron chandelier hung overhead like an enormous spider, each of its arms bearing a large, fat, beeswax candle that sent out a warming golden light, and dripped the occasional blob of wax onto the rich burgundy carpet underhoof.
"Yes, I'm sorry about the mess, it's been a tad hectic around here as of late. As for all these books" He gestured widely to the compendium about us, "I must have enough to fill a library with, perhaps once this is all over I'll see about building one. There's a magnificent golden oak over yonder," he pointed out of the window, "there have been discussions about making it into a school or a storehouse, perhaps an observatory. I, for one, think it would make a wonderful depository for such a wealth of knowledge, perhaps then I could get some work done and not find myself once again lost in an enveloping narrative..." he trailed off, wistfully.
We waited for him to finish his thought. "Do you like to read, Sergeant?" He asked jovially.
"Of course, Mayor, but that is not the reason we are here, if you don't mind let us get to business."
The Mayor looked briefly crestfallen, but that melted away at the sight of Minerva backing into the room with a tray of peppermint tea and dandelion macaroons.
The preparations went smoothly, for the most part.
Catering would be handled by the locals. For one there was Granny Smith, a wise and friendly elder whose desserts were practically forced upon us until we had to excuse ourselves, or bust at the seams. She and her family had produced over a score of mouth-wateringly aromatic pies with a myriad of fruit-based fillings. Next Mr and Mrs Cake from Sugarcube Corner, itself a name renowned even in Canterlot, were already hard at work crafting an equisite cake for the celebrations. 'Building' would have been a more fitting word, given the scope of the awesome Gateau, standing head and shoulders above even Mr. Cake himself, who towered above his wife.
Besides these there were various dishes made by dozens of local patrons, each vying for space on tables, and each one looking as delicious as the last. The Corporal, taking upon himself to sample each platter as it was thrust beneath his muzzle, began regretting his decision after almost two hours of sipping ciders, cordials, teas and liqueurs amidst guzzling his way through pies and pastries, flowering salads, hay and berry delicacies and even a bowl of what looked like, and later turned out to be, raffle tickets.
The musicians had arrived by early afternoon from Appleoosa, we had them set about practicing for the evening's festivities without a moment to rest, they were behind schedule and the music pavillion was to be used by dancing troupes and acrobats before nightfall, ourselves tasked with critically observing each act and assigning their place on the roster for the night. One performance stood out amongst the rest as I recall, there was quite the impressive display of stand-up and gag comedy from a young, bouncy filly whose name I never learned.
Then came the decorations, and I must say I didn't envy the unicorn that the Corporal ploughed into that morning. The grey pegasus that had caused the hubbub in the morning continued her destructive streak throughout the day, managing to topple a humongous bronze statue placed beside the path marked for the procession, shearing off its head which then rolled into the stream, dousing the organizer himself in polka-dot paint and somehow even losing forty-eight yards of brightly-coloured bunting.
A red carpet had been laid out, reaching from the steps of a raised platform erected at the centre of the town square, over the bridge that forded the river to the path which led to Sweet Apple Acres, a quaint and lush apple farm on the outskirts of town set upon a hill that overlooked Ponyville.
Following the parade route along the lazily winding road toward the farm, we stopped here and there to advise the placement of torches and flags signifying the route from the town square to Sweet Apple Acres, stepping aside as the same vermillion stallion thundered up and down the path, towing cartloads of wooden boards, reels of ribbon and sweet-smelling delights hither and thither at a dizzying frequency.
Cresting the final hill we were met with the homely sight of the farmstead, whose purple-roofed barn topped with a tall weathervane shaped like an apple, stood regally as ponies thrummed about it. The entryway to the farm was a lock of bright white picket fences, two wide double gates were flung invitingly open. To either side of the path, lush berry bushes were neatly arranged in rows as butterflies rested their wings upon them under the hot midday sun. An archway that spanned the entryway bore a sign intricately painted with vines and flowering plants boasted the farm's name 'Sweet Apple Acres'. I still recall the strong homely feeling that washed over me upon crossing over that threshold, like stepping into a warm shaft of light.
Sweet Apple Acres itself was to be the final venue of the celebration, and it had been decorated with the utmost care. The barn had been recently repainted, festooned with a rainbow of flowers, streamers and ribbons and every inch of the once-dusty farmyard had been remodeled into a work of art. The fences were straightened and topped with garlands and hoof-made lanterns, a dancefloor had been crafted and set into the floor, its varnished surface a magnificent sight set between a sea of long tables draped in embroidered tablecloths and benches, themselves intricately carved with a stellar motif from locally-sourced applewood. There were half a dozen strong-backed ponies stocking the barn with cider barrels whilst more delicious aromas wafted from the nearby farmhouse, Granny Smith and family still working hard on their confections.
Taking a moment to sit amongst Sweet Apple Acres' trees for a late lunch, provided by the apple family's white-maned matriarch herself, the Corporal and I sat on the grass and absorbed our surroundings, pleased to be off of our hooves for a short while. The orchards, whose trees were nearly drooping under the weight of their plump red, green and golden fruits, were alive with the sighing of the wind through verdant leaves, interspersed with joyous birdsong and the hum of industry as honey bees wafted from one tree to the next to sample their pollen. Viewing the skies through the gently swaying leaves brought to mind images of peering into the ocean at Horseshoe Bay one summer, counting fish with my sister as vividly coloured flounders, sunfish and angelfish darted about between the coral. It was strange, the almost hypnotic nostalgia that such a setting inspired in me.
Above us, in the blue sky, pegasi were to be seen swooping here and there, shepherding what few clouds remained over the horizon so as to leave the heavens unobscured. It was pleasing to watch the youngest colts and fillies riding atop cumulus clouds propelled by their friends. One overzealous young pegasus was scudding her cloud across the sky so rapidly that her windswept companion overbalanced and fell, prompting a swift nose-dive rescue from the rainbow-maned filly pushing. Whilst I could have easily fallen into a peaceful sleep beneath the green waves of the orchard I had to surrender to duty, and we departed the grove with reluctance, speaking loudly to rouse ourselves from our drowsiness.
As the day progressed, a feeling of barely repressed excitement hung in the air, walks turned to skipping, humming to singing and a smile was upon every face. The ponies of Ponyville had noticed that extra pains had been taken on all fronts; the food, the lights, the crystal clear skies and music drifting upon the breeze, it all spoke of a night to be remembered. Speculation was rife and each pony revelled in expounding their own predictions of the night's events to all within earshot. Furtive glances and gestures were made in the direction of the Corporal and myself, no doubt catching the eyes of the workers in our golden armor and exacerbating the rumors that something big was to happen once the sun met the horizon.
The afternoon brought with it a brief respite from the heat. Hammering continued as the final banners were being hung over the barn's entryway and groups of ponies were bringing a steady stream of food and drink from the farmhouse to be laid on wide tables about the farmyard. The sky was turning a deeper shade of blue as the Mayor strode through the gates of Sweet Apple Acres, his secretary Minerva in tow with saddlebags full of parchment.
"Corporal, go lend a hoof with the drink barrels, will you? I think the Mayor and I have some matters to discuss."
"At once, Sir!" He practically sprinted off, eager to bend his back to any manual task.
"Sergeant, how good to see you again, how are things on your end?" asked the Mayor, surveying the tableau before him with pride.
"Colour me impressed, Mayor. I don't think I've once seen a farm look so immaculate. Everyone seems to be throwing themselves into their jobs with zeal." The Corporal was now rolling barrels from the storehouse so furtively one purple-maned unicorn filly began lecturing him on his brash behaviour after the corsages she was preparing were knocked from her hooves.
"And so they should." The Mayor beamed, "not everyday we can prepare for such an auspicious occasion, I've kept things very hush-hush as you can imagine, but I think they can feel it, don't you?"
I nodded, "you can see it in their faces." I turned to him, "Mayor, we must discuss security."
"What's this?" The Mayor started visibly, "surely you don't expect any need..."
"Of course not," I interjected, "but tis better to err on the side of caution, and I intend for everything to go as smoothly tonight as it has done so far." The Mayor looked worried, an island of funk amidst a sea of excitement.
"Come now, Mayor, there's no need to fret. Let's sit and discuss tonight's procedures and see where we can tighten things up." I led him to an unoccupied bench and sat, inviting him to follow suit.
"Very well, Sergeant. Minerva, the plans, if you please." He sat, removing his hat and stroking his moustache slowly.
Then, at last the time had come. The skies were turning a warm purple and the faintest hint of starlight was to be seen, glittering above the low hills in the opposite direction. We were back at the town square, candles and braziers were being lit, and a crowd was forming to each side of the raised podium. More guards had arrived and now lined the carpeted central gangway leading from the raised platform to the bridge and beyond. Still as statues, their gaze was immovably fixed over the shoulder of the guard opposite.
I saluted as Steel Resolve, the Captain of the Royal Guard approached. The pegasus Captain struck such an awesome figure it was clear who was incharge at a glance, his breastplate shining with so many medals and badges he audibly clinked as he walked.
"Sergeant, I've just had a quick sit-down with the Mayor and it seems as though I have very little to do here."
"Captain?"
"Well, it apprears you've got this whole show wrapped up as tight as a crab's carapace, and ahead of schedule to boot." A thin smile spread across his normaly granite face. "I knew you were the stallion for the job."
"Sir I appreciate your faith in me, but much of the credit belongs to the Mayor and the citizens of Ponyville"
"Aah, modesty. Keep it up, Sergeant and perhaps you'll make Captain." He lowered his head and continued "Oh and good show keeping the Corporal about, it's good for the lad to get out of the barracks once in a while, drives a pony stir-crazy to do nothing but drill all day. Anyhow, carry on Sergeant."
The Captain spun about and began looking in all directions, having such a past as his he doubtlessly missed the action of his earlier days in the guard and harbored a secret desire for mischief to break out that he could quash.
Then came a lull in the chatter and shuffling of hooves on stone. Everypony had found themselves a position from which to see the podium upon which the Mayor stood alone, although off-centre. Some perched on rooftops, others hung from windows or stood on boxes to crane their necks over those ahead of them. All around excited foals sat across their parent's backs, or peered from between their legs, their large eyes shining in the dwindling sunlight, their long shadows dancing between lit torches set on tall poles and lanterns that pendulated slowly on the network of wires overhead.
"My dearest friends," the Mayor called, all eyes fell upon his glowing face, "has it been four years already? Ponyville has not aged itself a day, looking as serene and, dare I say, beautiful as the day I first clapped eyes upon her." He paused as there was a ripple of cheers, laughter and hurrahs from the crowd.
"And yet I, myself am sporting a few more lines beneath my eyes and even this morning another grey whisker amongst my perfectly dashing moustache," at this he wiggled his lip back and forth, winking at a group of mares who tittered uncontrollably.
"The end of May brings with it the promise of a long and fruitful summer. Upon a day like today I ask you to cast your minds back over the last four years, and reflect on everything we have achieved together as friends, and also to ask of you what hopes you have of the next. "
"In my years as Mayor I've seen any number of you grow from colts and fillies into the most wonderful ponies I've ever had the pleasure to meet. I surely hope that, as the cycle continues from dawn until dusk, and from Winter to Spring, that the foals of Ponyville shall continue to carry us onward, and continue to do our wonderful town proud."
Once again, cheering and the stamping of hooves reverberated about the town square, now measurably humming with good cheer.
"Take a moment, my dearest ponies, to be thankful for the peace and harmony we live in together. Our history was not a smooth one, Pegasi, Unicorns and Earth Ponies were not always so close, and we should not forget how lucky we are."
"Our futures are a blank page, but looking upon Ponyville, the way you have made her shine for such a special night, and upon such an array of exemplary ponies, I can't help but expect anything but the very best for what lies ahead."
There was only a heartbeat before the Mayor continued, so as to avoid yet another outbreak of cheering. "And now, everypony, if you will turn your eyes to the West. I believe we are about to witness something quite remarkable."
Everypony watched at the Sun nestled beyond the gently curving horizon. The distant hills sported burning coronas beneath a ruby sky, the last fleeting rays of golden sunlight played over Equestria, then all was bathed in the deepest aquamarine of twilight.
The stars burst to life overhead, studding the heavens with diamonds and sapphires beyond counting, each seeming close enough to touch with an outstretched hoof.
Then there was a flash, an intense white light from the West like a star falling in reverse. Closer it streaked, lighting up the world all around as far as could be seen, it curved and flew faster than a comet towards us.
Ponies gasped as it broke over the town, a million glowing raindrops that fell as slow as snowflakes. Marvellous orbs like pearls drifted down about us, bursting softly on the ground and rooftops with a sound like wind through leaves, or perhaps the ocean casting its spray across the shore.
All around was a brilliant white, the ponies of Ponyville all stood with their mouths agape, as foals giggled, bouncing merrily amongst the stars that fell from the sky.
"Look!" One of them was pointing towards the platform at the centre of the square.
"Everypony," the Mayor cried above the rising cheers as ponies saw the figure stood beside him, "please, join me in welcoming Her royal Highness, Princess Celestia!"
She did it, I had thought, what a way to start an evening. After who knows how many years ruling her subjects, Princess Celestia could never resist her dramatic entrances. The deafening sounds of applause and whooping, whistles and stamping of hooves were what she thrived on, and she was emanating such an aura she seemed to hover.
The Princess Celestia made a few words of greeting to everypony and the music struck up. I would like to be more descriptive here but I was no mere spectator at this point. Once the Princess was present we, the Royal Guard, were to be on the alert, we were afterall here in an official capacity.
History has been kind to us, mostly. Nopony I recall was present during the time of Discord's reign, or of King Sombra's opression of the Crystal Empire in the frozen North, and a relative peace has settled across Equestria. The Royal Guard are often tasked with magical suppression, resolving trade or border disputes with neighbouring nations or clearing the occasional dragon's nest, but as any historian will tell you peace can be seen as the period between times of strife, and we should never become complacent. And so, we train, and we are prepared, if necessary, to give our lives in protection of Equestria so that future generations will not have to.
A procession formed, headed by the Princess, that followed the carpeted path over the bridge and wound its way out of the town beneath waves of coloured lanterns that criss-crossed between the tall trees. Fireflies joined us on either side, as the Princess led the way with her subjects behind like the tail of a burning meteor. We, the Guard were on either side of the parade, our eyes scanning intently for any sign of unrest that would pierce the veil of merriment that pervaded all present.
The crowd could not but help to chorus 'The Heart Carol' as they walked, The Mayor donating his famous tenor voice as Princess Celestia smiled contently, her flowing mane shimmering in the artificial starlight that laced the path.
I became aware of movement overhead, a bough trembled on a great oak that leaned across our path, then again, as leaves were loosened and drifted downward. I quickened my pace, nopony else had noticed, and I didn't wish to cause unnecessary alarm by crying out.
Drawing closer, I saw what looked like a figure hunched among the leaves, the Princess was close now. The tree shook as the figure leapt straight for her, I yelled and concentrated, not one but two ponies had thrown themselves toward Celestia from the tree!
My magic caught them, they hung suspended a hair's breadth from the Princess as her eyes were opened wide with surprise, "Oh!" She exclaimed, stopping dead in her tracks. The crowd had stopped their singing and murmurs drifted up towards us as ponies struggled against the guards to get a better view of what was happening.
There, hanging in midair were two tiny fillies, a teal unicorn and a blue-and-pink maned earth pony. They giggled then, together, planted kisses on Celestia's muzzle and said in unison "we love you Princess!"
Celestia gathered the girls with her magic and tittered, "and I love you too, my little ponies" she said sweetly, setting them upon her back so she could carry them the rest of the way.
"Thank you, Sergeant," she said as she passed by.
"Good show, old boy" the Mayor chuckled, nudging me in the ribs as the procession started once again. "Couple of little rapscallions those two are, and nigh on inseparable. Come on, don't dally now or all the food will be gone by the time we get there."
And that was it as far as my duties were concerned. Having been in Ponyville since the morning, the rest of the guard to provide security leaving the Corporal and I to enjoy ourselves that evening. I waited beside the front gates of Sweet Apple Acres for the Corporal to join me, having been in the rear guard.
"So Sergeant," he said, "are you excited?"
"I don't know about excited, but I'm starving" I replied.
We walked, our hooves heavy from the day's exertions. All about us crickets chirped and notes hung in the air as bands tuned their instruments, bells jingled on costumes and energetic chatter rose from the crowd about the farmyard.
"Well, you should be excited" said the Corporal, placing his helmet aside and scooping up two flagons of chilled cider, pressing one into my hooves.
"After all" he said, raising his drink "it is Mayday."
End.
