Grazing on the Hilltops of Winchester Grange

There is no better way to describe the country found within Winchester Grange than with the utmost respect and consideration to its residents. In my youth, I found it rather pleasant to be walking down the fine roads of the Grange, always being greeted by the ponies who lived in the rows of extravagant residences that overlooked the hill-ridden fields that lay like a backdrop against the horizon. If I recall correctly, I was of six years of age, and I had only but recently begun learning the correct societal behaviors that so often permeated the upper rungs of society. Proper this and proper that, I was born into a very proper world inhabited by only the most proper ponies. I hold no contempt against such an attitude; in fact I find it rather grand to be surrounded by well-composed folk; yet, I didn't feel as satisfied as some ponies did with the commonly accepted aristocratic lifestyle. I preferred to spend my time in a more adventurous fashion, or howmuchever adventurous a lad of my age was permitted to be. My father, Gabriel Rudge, owned the entire collective property and estate of Winchester Grange, and was considered to be the richest pony anypony could be without bordering on official royalty. He was, himself, a spirited colt, who oftentimes could be found galloping gracefully across the fields of Golden Flax that grew up in every nook and cranny of the place during the summer months. Inspired by his idiosyncratic behaviors, I often ventured out into the foothills where nopony lived nor fostered their gardens. A completely untamed, beautiful territory lay right on the doorstep of the Grange, and I had no intention of letting such a wondrous land sink into latent unexplored status. So, I took it upon myself to explore this wild country at about the aforementioned age, and continued to map it out in my mind until the age of maturity began to come upon me. It never escaped my memory, mind you, the fantastic exhilaration that always accompanied my escapades into the fields and hills, so even in my considerably older ages, I found pleasure in taking an occasional stroll through the place. Perhaps the most prominent memory of my childhood occurred one day whilst I was on one of my journeys. Hopping through the Flax (which was of great fun at the time, for the stalks reached far above my personal height), I spotted an elegant white carriage being pulled by four Pegasuses through the morning sky. The coach driver was decked in highly ostentatious apparel: a velvet coat, with a purple handkerchief sticking out of his front chest pocket, sewed with several golden buttons, and gracing his driving whip of fine brown leather, only for show. Automatically, I could tell that whomever rode within the carriage was of high repute, so abandoning my current activity of exploration, I made off for the central town.

I arrived right on time to see the carriage land in the square, and it looked to me as if several ponies had been expecting this formal visitor's arrival. The coach driver descended from his seat and proceeded to open the side-door for the carriage's passenger. This day was the first time I had ever seen an Alicorn, and I can still say with confident assurance that I was amazed by the colt's refined, graceful appearance. The colt had the outfit of a royal parson, and so genuinely intrigued the aristocrats of the Grange who had gathered around for this occasion. His voice was deep, commanding, and quite projective, even within the gable of the crowds.

"Greetings and Salutations to my dear residents of Winchester Grange! I, The Duke of Alicorns, have come to arrange an important business agreement with the lord of this land. Somepony tell him that I have come to speak with him, and that I will be awaiting his arrival in the Merrygallant Hotel. Until then, good subjects, I must retire to my selected chamber within the establishment, and await the good gentlecoat's conversation." With this speech given in brevity, he withdrew back into the carriage, the driver shut the door, mounted his seat, and took off in the general direction of Merrygallant Hotel. Wanting to be the one who delivered the news to my father, I bolted home, hearing the heightened conversations of the crowd fade away as I left its presence. The Grange's main road, Saddle Street, was a finely kept procession of bricks, well-suited for the finely kept ponies in the area. My small hooves made barely a clop as my journey ensued, taking me past the baker's, the florist's, and the tailor's establishments. My father's real estate office marked the end of the urban section of the Grange, and the following rural stretch presented a pleasing picture to any who might behold it. The land could be described by the appearance of various gemstones: The emerald sea of grass, the sapphire expanse of sky, and the ruby patches of wild roses that were openly allowed to grow free. Rhinemane Manor, my father's personal residence, began to levitate over the horizon into my view. The surrounding gate, comprised mainly of metal bars, with columns of marble interrupting their progression every thirty or so, stood open as a welcoming gesture to guests. I ran up the finely laid white dirt road that twisted and wound through the fine grass and garden areas of the estate, until finally I came upon the house itself. It was a partially aged house, being constructed by Rudges far before my father's birth. Yet in all of its years, it held in equanimity its well-kept state. Whomsoever built Rhinemane Manor had it in their mind that it should perhaps last forever. Constructed with hints at the Martingale* styles of architecture, it held many sophisticated methods by which the building supported itself. Several flying buttresses layered the outer portion, while Stallionesque* curved ceilings lined the inner portion. I practically threw myself up the front steps, and hastily opened the ornate redwood door. My promenade was sharply interrupted by an adult pony's body, and I fell backward as I ran into it.

"Careful, young master Gabarlile! You almost made me drop these carnations!" The hand-servant, Merriam, stood over my floor-bound person, levitating a brass tub of soil and red carnations with her magic. "Where're you off to in such a hurry, anyhow? I'll not have you running so tactlessly through the residence, disturbing the master's guests." She levitated me off of the floor, and back onto my feet. "There you are. Now, go to the washroom and compose yourself; you're positively filthy!"

"Yes ma'am." Ceasing in my hurried flurry, I walked properly and composedly to my designated destination. There were other ponies in the house; some, I recognized from the urban Grange, yet others I hadn't seen before. The polished marble floors reported with the sound of controlled steps, and beheld several shadows of the myriad guests. There were a few that stood out among the rest, and they were concentrated into their own group in the center of the room. These ponies looked especially posh, decked in flamboyant colors, much like those upon the coach driver for The Duke of Alicorns. As I passed them, I could pick up traces of conversation about a grand castle of some sort. The way they talked about it made it seem as if it were the most stupendous thing in the entire world. Their voices faded into the background of chatter as I made my way through the foyer. I circumvented the long, curvy staircase that penetrated the back of the room, and entered the door into the kitchen and dining areas. The dining hall was just as grand as the exterior of the place; a overly-long oaken table stretched from the entrance to the fireplace in the opposite wall, making it an estimated thirty feet long. As always, it was ornamented with silver plates, fine crystal pitchers, and translucent vases containing white and lavender flowers, fresh picked every day. The diamond chandelier suspended from the ceiling cast off speckles of light and prismatic refraction from whatever illuminating source there might have been about, according to time of day, whether it be the sunlight pouring in from the huge windows that stretched from the floor to the ceiling, or the flickering flames of the fireplace. A swinging door in the corner led to the kitchen, which was juxtaposed with the washroom. As I headed to the door, I noticed half of a pony's head sticking out from behind one of the chairs that vanished as soon as I beheld it. Curious, I walked over to the chair, walking around the table to do so. Eventually, the image of a young filly (at my same age) came into view.

"Christina! What're you doing in the dining hall?" Christina was a filly I knew from the local academy. Our fathers were very good friends, and so I deduced that her father might be here at the manor along with all of the other guests.

"Oh.....I uh.......nothing, Gabarlile. I just....uh.....got a little lost." She straightened her composer and tried to look dignified, as well as justified in my finding her outside of the perimeters of the group of guests. She began to walk back towards the door to the foyer. "I was simply taking a look at your house, as I've never seen it before." Even at that age, I could detect the scent of a lie.

"You were not! You were spying on me, weren't you?", I responded.

She returned my statement with gasps of annoyance and exasperation. "Spying?! Why on Earth would you suspect me of spying on you, Gabarlile Rudge? You assume too much of yourself!" With this statement, her dress got caught on her hoof, and she stumbled onto the floor. I tried to retain composure, and struggled to prevent myself from laughing as I helped her up. "I can see that smug look of amusement on your face, you animal! Don't think I can't! Just get your hands off me, I don't need your help!" She huffed out of the room as soon as she regained her footing. I simply smiled and resumed my task of getting to the washroom.

Arriving back into the foyer among the guests, I now had the look of a well-washed gentlecoat. That's when I spotted my father among the group of refined stallions, engaging in a very bright conversation about the aforementioned castle. I wandered over to him, and gave his waistcoat a tug. He turned toward me and smiled.

"Gabarlile! Wonderful to see you back at the house!", he said genially.

"Father, I have something to tell you..."

"In a moment, my boy. I was just talking to Mr. Radigan Tarch here about a lovely piece of property that's about to be erected here in the Grange!" He turned back to Radigan. "As I was saying, I do believe that revenue would soar past the roof if such a project were to be undertaken. Winchester Grange is a place with an absolutely spotless economic record, and we have the finances to invest in such a venture, so I say why not? It's a marvelous idea if nothing else!"

Christina's father, Radigan of course, chuckled for a moment. "Gabriel Rudge, if there ever was an industrious pony with such a drive behind his dealings, it would most emphatically be you." He checked his pocket watch. "Oh dear, my wife will be quite put out if I don't head for my own residence here in a short bit. I'm afraid I'll have to bid you adieu, my good friend. Perhaps you would be available to come by my place in the Lord's Parish, just down Rudge Avenue, tomorrow morning? Mrs. Tarch would be delighted to have company over for a light breakfast. It's been far too long."

"Jolly good idea, Radigan! Be expecting me on the morrow!", my father heartily responded. With this, Radigan departed Rhinemane, along with Christina, who had her chin pointed almost straight up in the air when she noticed me looking at her. "Now, what is it you wanted to tell me, my good boy?" I jumped a little bit, being too involved in staring at Christina.

"Oh yes, there was a stallion who came into the Grange today, and he was dressed up in really fancy clothes! He said his name was....uh....the Duke of Alicorns! He said he wanted to speak with whomever owned the Grange, so I ran home to tell you."

My father closed his eyes, smiled and nodded his head. "Yes, I know, Gabarlile. The Duke has come to set up a business proposition with me, since I'm the owner of the Grange's real estate company. He sent me a letter two weeks ago as a formal notice of his arrival. I'm to meet with him after this get-together has come to a close, and we'll discuss the matter of business at hand. Did he say where he was staying?"

"Yes sir. Marrygalant Hotel, I think.", I said, cocking my head in an effort to remember. "What's the business proposition, father?"

He looked around the room at all of the guests, then he leaned down to whisper to me. "Follow me into your room, and I'll tell you. I don't want the common citizens to know about this just yet. There is to be a formal speech given in the square that informs them of its initiation. I have the whole thing planned out." I followed him up the polished redwood staircase, down the left hall and into my room, the last door on the right. He walked over to the closed curtains and opened them, flooding the room with fresh sunlight. "Look out onto the open fields, Gabarlile, and tell me what you see." I did as he said, and beheld a lush sea of green grass rolling over the hills, infinitely into the horizon. Canterlot Mountain, the highest mountain in Equestria, poked up over to the left, looming over the entire property, casting a great purple shadow whenever the sun set behind it.

"I see the Grange's rural stretches, and Canterlot Mountain."

"Exactly, Gabarlile. Now, just imagine, a great castle sticking out of the side of Canterlot Mountain. Imagine great white spires with turrets capping their tops, and great purple banners decking the sides of the palace, with the symbol of the royal family upon them. Imagine the numerous crowds of ponies that will come from all over Equestria, just to trade in this new capital city, and thereby coming through Winchester Grange. We will be the neighbors of royalty! Imagine the possibilities, my dear boy!" His eyes were practically sparkling at the thought of such a place. He gazed up at the mountain, and it was hard to tell whether he saw the reality of the nothingness that was there at the present time, or the picture of what was to come with the castle. "Canterlot Castle.", he muttered. "Just think of it..." He seemed lost in his prospects. Merriam came rushing into the room, interrupting his daydream.

"I beg your pardon, sir, but the guests have started leaving."

"Ah! I'll need to go down to bid them farewell. Prepare me an outing suit, Merriam. I plan to leave for Merrygalant Hotel here in about half an hour."

"Of course, sir." Gabriel left the room, and Merriam soon followed. I turned back to the window, and gazed at the spot on the mountain my father had pointed to. If I tried hard enough, I could just picture the speckles of light that would come from the castle windows at nighttime.

*Martingale and Stallionesque - Martingale is the proper term for the stirrups used to keep a horse's head into position, and Stallionesque, in the present context, is a pseudo-variation of the word Arabesque, which is a style of medieval architecture.