The Merry Llewd

Finally the day arrived. Nervousness was mounting, and a sense of tension filled the castle and most of the village.

“Have you thoroughly reviewed your roles?” Clady was sitting ramrod straight on a stool in the study. Cinnamon was on another stool, naked and being fussed over by carefully picked attendants working under the careful direction of the deer. A dozen or more spirals had been painted on her muzzle, her cheeks, her neck, her shoulders; and, embarrassingly, around her prominent nipples, and her naval. The images of a crescent moon and three shooting stars that normally adorned her backside had been colored over and replaced with a pair of large spirals.

It occurred to Count that apart from the first night, he wasn’t sure he’d seen the old doe sitting down. Even now it seemed like an unnatural act for her. She seemed more accustomed to being on her bread, split feet, giving orders, and somehow seeming to tower over ponies a full head higher than her. The massive and misshapen antlers helped.

Cinny nodded. “I have and…” She looked uncertainly at Count. “You’re sure you’re OK with this?”

He put a hand on hers and gave it a squeeze. “I know who you’ll be coming home to at the end of the night. That’s all that matters to me. That and the fact that this might help our community if there’s something too this.”He leaned over and kissed her cheek. “Besides, there seems to be a lot of woo in those writings. I suspect there’s some sort of ceremonial representation. Nothing real, you know? It’ll be fun.”

The doe huffed. “Fun it may seem, and fun it may be...at times, but don’t forget that this is real and serious business. You will be the walking avatar of some powerful spirits. There may be some,” she paused as though searching for the words. “Mild discomfort and odd feelings.”

The two ponies exchanged confused looks. Count raised a finger and opened his mouth, but before any words could come, Fern appeared in the door. A dark, royal blue dress was offset by bright red neckline, brocaded in gold in intricate patterns and cut low to show a tuft of cleavage fluff. Sprigs of holly had been attached to her antlers. “You’re not dressed Clady?”

“Quite right. Help the princess into her costume and I’ll prepare.

And what a costume it would be. The princess would be walking through the streets on stilts, well over 3 meters tall. The base of the stilts had broad, hoof-like bases, but that could only add so much to their stability. She’d only had a few practice sessions on them, and that was without the encumbrance of the rest of her costume, which needed to come first. Fern produced her only undergarment, a band around her middle, running from just under her breasts to just below her navel. It covered and immobilized her wings. Apparently wind spirits do not require such appendages.

Then came the dress, which turned out to be far too long, and not by a small amount. The hem lay bunched on the floor. The sleeves almost reached the floor too, having long, trailing cuffs. The color of the dress was a plain white, but with red and gold embroidery of spirals that roughly matched the ones Cinny wore under it.

“Why strip me down and paint the spirals if you just cover them with the dress with the same pattern?”

“It’s important that the emblems are always present,” was all the reindeer would say.

With the Count’s help holding the hem, they made their way down to the courtyard. “I feel like the foal in a wedding behind the bride.”

Cinny felt a pang of embarrassment shuffling along with the bunched up dress, an earning curious looks from the staff that she passed. Upon entering the courtyard, the cold air swirled around her and cut through the fabric. “Eyes front mister,” she said playfully to the Count, who had noticed the prominence of her hardened nipples pushing through the smooth fabric.

The courtyard was all but deserted. Large braziers had been set up around the perimeter, providing both heat and light in the cold night. A platform had been constructed to be part of the beginning and end of the ceremony. With some help from Fern and the Count, she mounted the steps, then the doe turned to the stallion.

“You should go prepare your costume as well. We’ll have it from here.”

“See you later, East Wind.” Count gave her a peck on the cheek and then returned to the warmth of the castle.

Fern gestured. “If you’ll step into the stilts, I’ll strap you in.”

Standing at the stilts positioned Cinny directly in front of a small, narrow table, padded with red felt. The end of the table was no wider than her hips, and positioned just in front of her pelvis. She bunched up the dress and rested it on the table. Risking a small lean to either side, she saw the rest of the apparatus for the evening. Near the far end of the table, a pair of leather straps waited, sized perfectly to hold a mare’s wrists securely. This is going to be a night to remember, that’s for sure.

Cinny slotted her hooves into the custom constructed cups in the top of the stilts, and she could feel the nimble fingers tightening the straps. The stilts were blessedly stable, as they were confined to slots in the platform only wide enough too accommodate them. Looking behind her, she could see the mechanism holding them. The front of the platform was a trap door. When up, it blocked the stilts into their narrow slots. Once the trapdoor was dropped, the stilts wild be free to slide out of the slots and Cinny could be on her way.

“Try wiggling your hooves please.”

Cinny obliged. The straps around her pastern and cannon held her in place securely. The only movement she could manage was the small amount of play that the slots in the platform allowed the stilts.

“Ah good. She’s all strapped in.”

Cinny looked up to see Cladonia had returned, wearing a severe dress over her gaunt frame, deep blue with the same red and gold embroidery around the neck line, which was not as deep and revealing as the younger doe’s. She carried a gnarled holly staff, festooned with leaves and large, round, brass bells. The old doe looked up at the sky and sniffed the air for a long moment.

Cinny found herself looking up to see what had so interesting, but could see nothing. Only then did she notice. “The night is so still. No wind.” She’d stopped even noticing it, and now it’s absence seemed louder than it had ever been.

Cladonia nodded. “You are in the dress, and on the stilts. The wild magic is waiting. Watching. You’ve started your path already, now there is only the moving and the doing.” She reached up and pulled a pin from the platform. The trap door fell away with a bang. Caught off guard, Cinny found she was no longer being supported from behind her and took a step backward to compensate, swinging arms wildly. Her ability to recover was further hampered because she was down two limbs. Her wings strained uselessly against their confines. The dangling cuffs of her sleeves swung in great spirals. As she stepped back the bunched up dress was pulled off the small table and fell heavily. The weighted hem came up short just above the cobbles and there was a floomp, like the sails of a tacking ship.

The broad, hoof-like bases of the stilts shifted on the cobblestones. A sudden gust of wind playfully caught the long dress and threatened to topple her. Just as she thought she would go over, however, the wind shifted the dress billowed out and pulled her upright again.

The whole process took only a few seconds to play out. Cladonia was watching with a dispassionate eye. As Cinny found her footing, she gave a small, terse nod. “Very good. Fern, help the Count with his costume. Then follow on the signal.” She shouldered a large carrier bag and led the apparition that was Cinny out of the courtyard and into the streets, followed by three guards turned porters for their supplies.

Old Iron Gall, the librarian, watched from an upper window. He gave a small nod as they disappeared out the main gate and turned to the stallions assigned to him for the evening. “Time to get to work.”