John Sampson's Story

I’m waiting, not uncomfortable, not excited, just waiting. There is plenty of room in the hall with water and toilet facilities nearby. Food is not much farther away. But the line is long and I’m at the wrong end of it. I can’t complain. It’s obvious that the business of government comes first. Military leaders, ministers and ambassadors will always be at the head of the line. Nobles and business leaders will always precede simple farm ponies. So I wait.

It’s not as bad as it sounds. The Guardpony took my name and a ‘brief summary of the problem’ when I signed in. I have absolute faith in the bureaucracy to keep my place in line for me. It may take days but I will get into the throne room. But then I’ll have to actually articulate my problem and I don’t know if I can do that. If it wasn’t such a mystery to me I wouldn’t have to ask a Princess for help.

There are a few advantages to being a Draft pony. We aren’t common in Canterlot so we always have the best seat in the house. We’re big enough to just look right over the top of everypony else. That's why I’m one of the first to notice a commotion at the Throne Room door. Guards come bursting through the door, scattering the dignitaries like leaves. Then the biggest, brightest, most beautiful pony that I’ve ever seen strides through and heads down the line. It’s Her Majesty, Princess Celestia, in the flesh! I quickly bow my head in case she passes me on her way to whatever is so urgent. I wait, but she never passes me.

“John Sampson?” inquires the most wonderful voice in the world.

I. Know. That. Voice. She must be looking for the pony that was next to me but how do I recognize that voice?

“Look at me John Sampson.” again, that voice.

Then I feel a tingling of magic under my chin and find myself looking directly into the wisest eyes in the world.

“Your Majesty, my name is Bud, just Bud, and I don’t know who John Sampson is.”

Princess Celestia steps back and motions for two of Her Guards. “Take this pony to my private office and see to it that she is made completely comfortable.” She turns to the rest of Her Guards and says “All audiences below ambassadorial level are canceled” as she strides briskly back to the throne room.

“This way, please ma’am.” The Guards seem unsure if they are more awed by a pony my size or confused by the fact that a Princess took notice of a simple dirt farmer. We walk right up to a nondescript door. Inside is a large practical office like I would expect any business executive to own. One of the Guardponies points to a door at the back of the room and says, “Toilet in there, ma’am.” Then they turn and leave the way we came in.

This is the first furniture I’ve seen outside of one of my herd's homes that is big enough to be comfortable for me. There’s tea and snacks on the table and the maid seems positively astonished that I didn’t want anything else. The wall behind me is full of books but I don’t get to more than glance at them before Princess Celestia comes in through the door at the other end of the room. I turn and bow.

“Bud, there is no need for formality in this office. It exists to let me cut through time wasting rituals and get done what is most important. Please tell me what has brought you here to see me.”

“Your Majesty, it started with a simple question: How old am I? I can’t remember a dam or foalhood but I always assumed that I had been injured and just lost those memories. It seems like Fred, my stallion, and I have always been together and have always been right where we are today, on our farm. Fred is missing the same kind of memories but all that means is that we got caught up in the same disaster which would be normal for any couple as close as we are.”

Celestia nods, “But there’s more.”

“We have a happy band with foals of all ages running around. Some of our foals have grown up to become teachers, business leaders, and military officers with bands and foals of their own. Others have stayed to help on the farm. We are a large herd and well off enough that no pony gets less than they deserve. Then I was forced to miss the funeral of my great grandfilly because I was in labor. Yes, I mean dropping a foal. Even that didn’t seem strange until they brought me the commemorative page from the funeral. My great grandfilly had lived a long life and died of old age. And yet here we are, her great grand dam and sire, a young healthy broodmare with a young virile stallion. How is it possible?”

Celestia mulls it over for several minutes. Reaching a conclusion She says, “Let me tell you a story from long ago, one that very few ponies know.”