Jasmine with Mint (and Chamomile)
Celestia took her time, admiring the crystalline amber hue of the tea as it poured gracefully into the first of two cups. It was a soft and rosy sunlit afternoon, and the radiance of her beloved Sun fell gently upon everything in her study around her. The polished, solid cedar of the study doors; the subtle refractive shine of a sunbeam upon her well-loved writing desk, venerable site of many centuries of thoughtful statecraft; the glint and refraction of stray motes of light off many mementoes, baubles of glass, wood and metal, some quietly shifting in their alcoves in the corner of her eye; the crisp brightness of blue floral patterns on white porcelain, a long-treasured gift from a long-passed friend. Everything was stillness, and light.
Breathing in deeply, for a few moments, the monarch of the sun felt a rare moment of perfect peace.
Moments later, there was a gentle tap-tapping at her door, calling her forth from her state of reverie. Ah, yes; her guest. With a golden shimmering of her horn, she drew the door open, beckoning her guest come in. “Welcome! I’m very glad you could make it, my little pony.”
“Not as happy as I am to see you, Princess!” Pinkie Pie gleefully expressed, bouncing into the room with her particular brand of celebratory cheer. “I’ve been waiting for this all week!” Though quiet seemed to flee the room with her entry, Celestia could only feel as if the sunbeams somehow brightened with her energy. She allowed herself a small, wry smile as the pink confection of a pony bounced once, twice, three times in place before plopping all-too-comfortably into the proferred chair, her hooves clattering loudly against the leg of the table as she sat.
“I’ve been looking forward to it myself. The court has been bustling so much lately, I’ve scarcely had time to myself, let alone to catch up with my dear friends.” The teapot shimmered, gently lifting from the table, as Celestia poured out a second cup for herself. “This blend is one of my favourites, a spry cup of jasmine, with fresh mint from the castle gardens; uncomplicated, but refreshing, and with pep.”
“Sounds delish!” For all her lack of levitation magic, Pinkie’s teacup may as well have flown into her hooves with all her eagerness to sample its’ contents; she took two sips, each delicate and appraising, with little hems and haws, before taking a much longer pull. “Yup; tastes delish, too! I love the subtle hint of chamomile.”
“Oh, you noticed that, did you? I hoped it might calm you. Just a little,” Celestia gently chided her, her eyes laughing as she did so. “You’re always fit to bursting with energy, to the point where I can scarcely keep up with you.”
“Mm, nice try! But there’s no slowing me down, Princess,” Pinkie proclaimed as Equestria’s monarch took a graceful pull of her own steaming cup. “This Pie’s got gumption to spare! Ain’t nothin’ gonna slow me down, especially when my friends need me!”
“Not even cake?” Celetia asked, innocently.
“Not even cake!” Pinkie proclaimed, proudly.
“Not even cake?” Celestia asked again, studiously ignoring the golden-shimmering platter of chocolate cake that had quietly gravitated into the air beside her.
“…maybe possibly cake,” Pinkie slowly reconsidered, tapping her hooves together pensively, “if it was really, really good,” she carefully amended.
“Mm, but I wonder how good it would need to be, exactly,” Celestia said as a nearby knife carefully sectioned the floating cake into eight perfect, pristine pieces, one of which quietly deposited itself onto a nearby plate, “for that to be the case.”
“Uh, well…I don’t know, exactly, Princess…” Pinkie said, her gaze fixed completely on the confection as it gracefully served itself onto the table, “as I think I’d need to try it. Very quickly, of course.”
“Mm. So I guess you probably wouldn’t want any of this one, then. Doubtless below your high baker’s standards,” Celestia sighed, a nearby fork arising to section off a single delicate piece; she took a bite. “Oh, mmhmhm; mhmm. Yes. No. Absolutely disgusting,” she said, refusing to subject poor Pinkie Pie to such an inferior edible. “You’d hate it.”
“Princesssssss,” Pinkie pouted, clearly dismayed. “Okay, okay! I would probably stop for at least long enough to enjoy your cake! It’s very good!”
“Even if the fate of the whorld wash hel in the balansh?” Celetia mouthed slightly awkwardly around yet another delectable slice. “Oh, gorsh, this ish good…”
“I’m sure destiny can mind itself for at least ten seconds! Which is long enough to enjoy at least one delectable slice of minty, zesty, incredibly delicious-zalishious chocolate cake!” Pinkie cried, becoming increasingly animated. To her mild horror, Celestia was moving on to a second slice. “A cake I would very much like to be eating right now!”
“What if Twilight was holding on to the edge of a cliff with just her front hooves?” Celestia said, thoroughly enjoying what was most assuredly an absolutely terrible cake. Slice number two was dwindling quickly.
“Twily is a big girl! She can look after herself!” Pinkie cried, her eyes growing quietly wider as piece number two quickly ceased to exist.
“Mmm.” Another bite. “Oh, by the Sun!” “Wha abou jush wan hoof? Mm, shorry, I need a napkin…”
“Big girl! Strong brain pony! Will figure it out!” Her eyes were wide. Panic was setting in. Not one, but two slices had just migrated from the serving plate to the Sacrificial Plate of Doom before Equestria’s royal highness.
“But wha abou - Mm, schuze me; what about no hooves? Just fell off, tumbling through the air, ground rushing up, whoo, three seconds until splat?” Celestia paused, taking the most delicate, princessly sip of her tea possible, before taking quite possibly the largest bite of cake that Pinkie was sure she had ever seen. That piece of cake had never seen it coming. The other merely awaited its’ inevitable fate.
Pinkie was sweating, hunched. She poured herself another cup of the incredibly soothing, delicate, relaxing tea, none of which was doing anything for her right now. There was only a quarter of the cake left. She stared into the surface of the amber liquid in her cup as if from a thousand miles away. “Sometimes sacrifices must be made for the greater good, Princess,” she murmured, quietly.
“Indeed,” Celestia agreed, nodding solemnly. The last quarter of the cake was hovering, slowly, angelically, onto her plate. “As sometimes they must.” Pinkie blinked; was that a tear, forming in the corner of her eye?
There was a moment of silence.
“How wonderful, then, that no such cake of any such quality could possibly exist,” Celestia breathed in a warm sigh of relief.
Pinkie stared at her, scarcely daring to breathe.
Celestia looked back at Pinkie Pie. Her eyes were searching, as if looking for something. Then she glanced down, down at the last, solitary, surviving piece of chocolate cake. Then she looked back up at Pinkie Pie.
With faintest, most tremulous of tiny smiles, Pinkie Pie dared to hope, to believe, that the Princess understood.
Celestia nodded. “Especially not this one,” she said, and swallowed the final slice whole.
Pinkie Pie was pretty sure she was screaming, but suddenly, her voice didn’t seem to be coming out. All that she could hear was a quiet, deeply horrified squeak.
“Well. I don’t know about you, but that was terrible,” the Princess harrumphed, licking her chops in the most satisfied way possible. “Glad I didn’t subject you to that.”
“You have my thanks,” Pinkie said, in the quietest, raspiest, most anguishedly polite voice possible. Her mane was flat, deflated, defeated. A single tear rolled down her cheek. All was lost.
“I’m so glad I saved this much better one for you,” Celestia continued. And with a sudden flash of her horn, there it was; stupendous, fantabulous, perfect - the largest, roundest, densest black forest chocolate cake that Pinkie Pie had ever seen.
She let out another voiceless squeak as everything in the world become suddenly fantastic again.
“But maybe save poor, hypothetically imperiled Twilight before you dig in, hmm?” she winked.
“Eh; she can just teleport to safety,” Pinkie replied with a shrug.
The cake did not survive.
Author's Note
I imagine this being set to calming jazz lounge music with a gradually fading-in kazoo
Lemonbalm, Linden, and Lavender
Celestia hummed quietly to herself as she laid out her little table in anticipation of today’s guest. Outside, the garden was beginning to settle into a serene, radiant autumn, with gentle serpentine winds sussurating through the golden leaves. Birds and squirrels were hopping about, gathering the last of their food for the winter, while gentle boreal winds began to nudge the first of the leaves off the trees. It would be the Running of the Leaves soon, and the monarch of the sun was looking forward to seeing which speedy contender would gallop their way to a first-place victory this year.
Gentle clinks of porcelain quietly interspersed the comfortable quiet of the room as she laid out cream and sugar alongside the gently steaming kettle, and Celestia decided it was an auspicious day to have her first fire of the season. With a golden flickering of her horn, two logs pulled themselves carefully from the pile near the modest wooden stove that occupied the far corner of the study opposite her desk, in the corner across from the entry door, and gracefully deposited themselves into place. A brief flare of golden magic set the wood alight, before another brief glimmering pulled the stove’s little iron door closed, and latched it shut. Celestia nodded happily to herself as the blaze took, a small, cheerful light beginning to emerge like a tiny sunrise behind the glass pane of the stove door. Though she was a firm believer in the power and practicality of skilled magic, there was still something to be said for the simplicity and comfort of natural fire. Even magic had its limits.
A gentle, faintly melodic knocking at her study door brought her out of her reverie. Celestia smiled gently as she turned to face the entry. “Please come in! It’s open.”
“So sorry I’m late, Princess,” Rarity expressed with a slight huff of exasperation as the door swung open just so, revealing a mare at once beautiful and understated, if slightly ruffled by the assertive autumn winds. Her eyes of sapphire gleamed beneath the flowing, elegant, moderately windswept curls of her mane of white-and-lilac, her brow furrowed slightly as she attempted to adjust the percieved damage. Her barrel was adorned with an attractive down coat with lilac accents to match her coat, while a sky-blue shimmering of magic fished around inside white fine-cotton saddlebags quietly lined with small, carefully patterned emeralds.
“Dear Sweetie Belle and her friends made a last-minute decision to become Cutie Mark Crusader Demolition Experts with the aid of a powered fan, a blow torch, a hair dryer, party balloons and Pinkie Pie’s entire supply of baking flour,” she proclaimed as she trotted into the room, “and I can scarcely tell you the kind of firm, extensive talking-to which that particular career choice called for. It wouldn’t bear to repeat in polite company.”
“Um.” Celestia blinked, unsure of whether she should laugh, sigh, or take a very quick trip to Ponyville to ensure that the town was, in fact, still standing.
“Yes. Quite,” Rarity sighed, rolling her eyes in one graceful sweep of sapphire as she joined Celestia at her table, her coat elegantly lifting from her back and onto the coat hanger by the door. “A typical Tuesday. In any case, I am here now! And I am very much anticipating a cup of your wonderful, delicious tea.”
“…and it shall be yours in but a moment,” Celestia replied, finishing her missive with a practiced flourish of her quill. With a shimmer of gold, it rolled up, then vanished. Captain Brightquill had been very insistently requesting a Tuesday shift for a while now; she only hoped he could live with the consequences. “Now, what kind of brew did you have in mind?”
“Something relaxing. Please,” Rarity pleaded as she massaged her temples in the most poised way possible.
“One soothing cup of calm, coming right up,” Celestia chuckled, smiling at the rare sight of a Rarity rather lacking in her usual composure. “Lemon balm and linden, I think? With catnip, valerian, and passionflower.” Against the wall, from where they sat on a collection of simple cedarwood shelves, a series of appropriately-labeled clay jars glowed, clinking slightly as their lids rose, and the relevant ingredients flowed, water like, through the air and into the monarch’s teapot. Rarity breathed in the scents of each herb gratefully as they flowed magically past her muzzle.
“And that’s the kettle,” Celestia said happily, as an insistent, cheerful whistling began to emerge from the wooden stovetop in the corner. The cast iron kettle she had placed there earlier was steaming mightily, filling the air around it with sound and muggy warmth.
“I’m still surprised to see you use a stovetop when the season turns. I imagine if I was as magically empowered as you are, I’d never need wait for the inconvenience,” Rarity said, watching idly as the kettle floated over in a haze of gold.
“Convenience isn’t everything, as you surely know,” Celestia replied, her eyes on the flow of water from the kettle as it fell from the spout and into the pot. “But then again, the prime advantage of convenience is that it saves time. And I have enough of that,” she added.
For just an instant, Rarity felt as if the Princess had receded; like a tide drawn back from a shoreline, or sunlight obscured by cloud. Though she never deigned to ask the Princess how old she really was - it was so impolite to ask a lady for her age - there were moments, like this, where she could almost feel the hidden vastness of the being with which she sat. More an ocean than a pony - an oceanic depth of time, magic, and memory, unknowable, a mystery of time somehow walking around on four hooves like the rest of us. And in moments, like this, the doubts set in. How could she possibly be of interest, of concern, to someone whose memories and wisdom ran farther in time than her life was long?
But then the Princess would grin, her gaze suddenly warm, reassuring, full of life once again; and she was simply sitting with a sister, a confidant, a friend. A friend with an impossibly fantastic mane - tricolour, glorious, something she would give her left hind leg (the one marred by the unfortunate, secret birthmark that only she knew about) to have - but a friend. Like all of her best.
And she would think no more of it.
“Now then,” Celestia demurred, setting the kettle down on its’ coaster with a sparkle of sunlight, “on to more important matters. Did you…” She cleared her throat.
Rarity watched her with anticipation.
“Did you…”
She swallowed.
“…bring it?”
“Yes,” Rarity breathed, with assertion.
“You really brought it. It’s here,” Celestia breathed, her excitement palpable.
“Oh, but of course,” Rarity said, reaching into her saddlebags and withdrawing the contents with a flourish, as they flew into the air and hung suspended in a blue aura above her. “Behold!”
Hanging in the air above her were three - count them, three- of the most extensive, in-depth, whimsical, sensual, saucy pieces of harlequin romance fiction known to pony-kind - volumes two through four of Lurid Stroke’s “Fires of the Heart: A Handmaid’s Chronicle of Betrayal, Passion, and Redemption”.
The room was filled with Celestia’s happy squee as she clapped like a filly, her eyes wide with glee at the sight of the books hanging in midair before her.
“The remaining volumes, as promised!” Rarity said, stacking the well-loved volumes neatly upon the table before pushing them gently towards the princess with a hoof. “And let me tell you,” Rarity added with a sultry expression, “as good as the first book was, the rest of the series only gets steamier the further you go. Like pitter-pat,” she proclaimed, with a swoon, for emphasis. “And just you wait. There’s something else besides,” Rarity said, teasingly.
“There’s…more?” Celestia gasped, her hooves set against her cheeks in shock.
Rarity reached even further in her saddlebags, before bringing out another book that Celestia hadn’t even known existed:
Lurid Stroke’s “Fires of the Heart: Throes of Passion, Pinings of Destiny, The Epilogue, The Sequel”
“Are you a god?” Celestia whispered.
“Only where my dresses are concerned, dear,” Rarity purred, “but I do pull off the occasional minor miracle.”
“Oh, goodness. I read the first one so long ago,” Celestia said wistfully, drawing the books over to her to scrutinize them further. “I don’t know how I even managed to come across it, honestly. Somehow it ended up mixed in with several other books in an order I had placed, mostly advanced magic tomes and new catrography references for the castle library, as it happened…otherwise I’d have never dared,” she breathed. “The Monarch of the Sun, buying books like these? Can you imagine?”
“Oh, Princess…the gossip would have been…incredible,” Rarity breathed languidly. Celestia could have sworn the mare’s pupils started dilating. She decided to start pouring the tea.
“Indeed…even under a false name, the risk seemed far too high. Honestly, after finishing the first book, I was at my wit’s end for how to get my hooves on the rest.” The teapot rose from the table on a shimmer of gold. “It should be done by now. Drink up,” she said, setting Rarity’s cup down with a gentle clink before pouring her own. “It’s always best to drink it with the right timing, before the herbs brew for too long.”
“Oh, heavens! That smells divine,” Rarity sighed as she breathed in the faint mist drifting above her cup. “Oh! Mmh! And it tastes even better!” she added. “Much obliged; thank you.” She sighed happily as she took another deep, yet well-mannered, sip, leaning back slightly into her seat. “I can already feel the memory of that dust explosion melting away…”
“So tell me; I don’t want too many spoilers,” the Princess began, “but I simply must know…does Count Redvine ever show up again? I just loved his no-holds-barred approach to tearing down the Browncoats’ merchant empire. But by the end of the first book, it seemed like he was on the bus for good…”
“Oh! Princess,” Rarity squealed with glee, “you have no idea! Just wait until you get to the end of book two! He and Lady Ivy Blossom become such a devious pair!”
“Ooh! I can’t wait. And what about Rosy Glow? Does she ever catch Lord Starlet Call’s heart? I almost couldn’t bear the part where she cut her beautiful mane to fool the Snakefang Theives and protect his secret! It was so…audaciously romantic,” she said with a dreamy sigh. “He really doesn’t deserve her.”
“Not yet he doesn’t! But just you wait. Book three brings a lot of character development. And a few surprises besides,” Rarity responded, nodding to herself. “Personally, I was absolutely devastated when my favorite ship - Fireclaw and Verdant Gleam, you met them near the end of book one - failed to set sail, so to speak…but then book three comes along with Dulcet Thunder and Velvetine, and…whoof,” she added, fanning herself. “Let’s just say I was able to console myself after they…made their debut.”
“No spoilers,” Celestia admonished.
“Darling, I wouldn’t dream of it,” Rarity cooed. “Just look forward to it. Very forward.”
“Noted. But now I’m so very curious! I’m not sure quite how you’d top Fireclaw’s dashing allure. Lurid Stroke’s prose conveyed such a…smoulder to him. So dreamy,” Celestia mused. “I still think back to the passion of his night with Verdant Gleam, even as their families sharpen their knives against each other…”
Oh! I simply love that scene!” Rarity chirped excitedly, clapping. “I just adore the way he…explores her in the bedroom. Such a rogue!” She tittered with a blush. “I must say, it’s almost enough to give a healthy, red-blooded mare ideas…”
Celestia gave Rarity an oddly sidelong glance.
“Ideas…?” Celestia said, with a quizzical look at the ceiling.
Rarity was suddenly very conspicuously quiet. She blushed harder.
“Hum. What sort of ideas, friend Rarity?” Celestia asked, her tone impossibly even, a hoof laid thoughtfully against her chin. “Do tell.”
“Oh, Princess. Come now,” Rarity murmured, somehow blushing even more deeply than she already was. “We are both ladies of education and experience! Surely I don’t need to specify in…detail.”
“And what kind of…detail might that be, Rarity? Surely a mare of your erudition and vocabulary should have no trouble explaining. In…detail.”
“So! About dear Lulu’s birthday dress!” Rarity proclaimed, her eyes darting about the room as she started breaking out into a cold sweat. “Do you think she would look better with amethysts or rubies? I was even considering something more exotic, perhaps using opals instead…some gold brocade, perhaps? Some midnight blue…trim…?”
“But Rarity,” Celestia said, shaking her head even as her gaze was completely unwavering, “you haven’t told me any of those most interesting…details yet,” the Princess added in the most patient, virtuous, infuriatingly gentle tone of voice imaginable.
“I regret every time I ever even considered you as best pony,” Rarity muttered dubiously, apparently trying to drown herself along with her sorrows in her teacup.
Celestia’s laughter rang down the hallway like a silver bell.
