Monday, August 31st, 909 AB

Despite being somewhat tired from staying awake throughout the night on the train, Cure knew he couldn’t afford to sleep. Instead, he toiled the hours away spreading his influence both at the base of the mountain and within the walls of the Royal Castle’s perimeter.

He swears that next time he has to do something like this he’s going to get at least one larger ring to facilitate faster mass transfer. Even with five rings moving mass it took a good portion of the night just to have enough. It wasn’t until about three in the morning that he allowed himself to drift off, certain that all of his preparations were sufficiently complete.

Unsurprisingly, it feels like he’d barely closed his eyes when a gentle rapping at the door rouses him to wakefulness. He debates whether he should wake his mom or let the mare sleep in for a change. She doesn’t get to very often, so he’s not sure if she may like to indulge when the opportunity presents itself.

On the other hoof, most ponies would kill for the chance to break fast with her majesty, and there’s no reason why she can’t take a nap or ask for a pick-me-up at any point later in the day. Then again, Amethyst isn’t nearly as much of a Celestia fangirl as his dam.

With a mental shrug, Cure extends his horn and pulls the door open as he worms his way out from underneath his mom’s left foreleg. The mare had taken to being the big spoon at some point in the night, and, like any pony, latched onto the nearest warm body to pull it closer.

Glissando Slide pokes her head into the darkened room, the tip of her horn illuminating the ceiling in a soft blue light. “Good morning, your highness,” she calls out in a whisper. “Will Lady Minerva be joining yourself and her majesty for breakfast?”

“I’m thinking she may be a tad miffed if I didn’t wake her up. Besides, nothing is stoppin her from coming right back to bed afterwards if she’s still tired. Go ahead,” he waves to the bathroom, “I’ll wake her up, Mrs. Sandy. Please get the water started and we’ll be right there.”

The mare departs with a nod, bathing the room in much brighter lights from the open bathroom door. Cure sits on his rump in the crook of Amethyst’s neck and leans over, giving the mare’s ears a few grooming licks. “Time to wake up, momma,” he gently calls, gumming from her ear’s base all the way to the tip.

He earns a flurry of slaps on his muzzle for his efforts, but the mare does start to groan and stretch. Forelegs extend out, nearly pushing him off the bed without a care as her back arches and her hind legs stretch all the way back, wobbling slightly in the air at full extension. A muzzle splitting yawn precedes a blast of hot, stinky morning breath, soon followed by a sneeze that might as well have been a pre-shower. Like a puppet with its strings cut, the mare goes completely limp on the bed, her eyes squinted almost shut from the intrusive light.

Cure hesitantly peeks out from behind his raised wing shield to take in the damage. “Didjya get it all, ma?” he asks in an accusatory tone.

“Mhmm… sorry, colt,” she insincerely apologizes, pawing at her snout with her left hoof. “Think I got one’a yer feathers up in there.”

“No. You definitely didn’t,” he huffs. “I woulda noticed it bein blasted at me at a thousand kph. Now c’mon, the… uhh… maid, I guess?” he ventures, looking in the direction of the bathroom. Somehow calling them servants seems demeaning, even if that’s the term Celestia uses. Maid doesn’t seem quite as bad, and nothing better immediately comes to mind. “Yeah, maid… anyhow, she’s here to bathe us and get us all purrrdied uuup,” he says, the last two words coming out in a thick southern drawl.

Amethyst rolls to her barrel and looks at the colt like he’s grown a second head, a trick he has considered for Nightmare Night but hasn’t attempted yet. At least, not on his own body. “Bathe us?” she echoes, looking towards the bathroom where the water is now running. “Whatthefuck ya talkin ‘bout, colt?!”

Forehooves raised in placation, he bobs his head, saying “I know, I know… it’s kinda weird, but yeah. She’s gonna scrub you from the tip of yer nose all the way to the end of yer tail, ma, and she’ll get everything - and I do mean everything,” he motions down to his junk, “in between.”

Mouth agape, the mare’s eyes flick back and forth between the colt and the open bathroom door. “Yer serious,” she finally declares.

“One hundred percent. I assume the princess is similarly serviced every day. This is how royalty is treated, ma.”

“That’s just plum ridiculous. She does realize I’ve been scrubbin my own rear just fine fer over twenty years, right?”

“I believe she is operating under that assumption,” he flatly responds. “Now,” he turns to hop down off the bed, beckoning with a waved wing, “come on. I’ll go first. Don’t freak out, okay? Like I said,” he pauses glancing back, “it is her job and, my understanding is, it’s an extremely prestigious position. Try not to make it weird.”

“Me make it weird?!” she quietly scoffs. “I ain’t the one scrubbin strangers under their tails, colt.”

“Why we in such a hurry ta get ta breakfast? Thought tha rumpscrubber said her majesty won’t be there fer another few minutes.”

“Yeah, well, it never hurts to be punctual,” he deflects, continuing on at what, to him, is just barely shy of a canter.

“Yer upta somethin.”

“Madame!” he cries, hopping and spreading his wings to hover sideways while holding his hooves to his chest, “I find the very idea that you would accuse me of some sort of malfeasance insulting! I would never dare bring such shame to my family’s good name!”

“Uh huh,” she blatantly dismisses. “Whatever it is, warn me ta get outta tha way first. Don’t need ta be catchin a stray fireball with yer name on it.”

“You bet, momma,” he easily agrees, his gold-clad hooves clacking as he lands just a few meters short of the door to the royal dining room. A guard’s horn lights up to pull the door open and the two make their way in, unsurprised to find they’ve arrived before the princess.

While his mom takes a seat at the table, Cure makes his way over to the servant’s entrance and disappears. Amethyst watches with mild amusement when the colt comes back a moment later with a copy of the Canterlot Chronicle tucked under his wing. He leaves the paper folded up between her and the princess’s spot, then quickly rounds the table to sit across from her. His rump barely settles on the pillow atop his booster when the doors open to reveal the princess in all her radiant magnificence.

Celestia strolls into the hall and exchanges greetings with the pair on the way to her alicorn-sized cushion at the end of the table to Cure’s right. The instant she takes her place, the server’s door swings open and a light green pegasus mare comes trotting out, a tray of drinks balanced on her back.

Cure lights up his horn, helping the mare pass everything out without having to maneuver the tray down her wing. Cure doesn’t let his mug even touch the table before dumping a bunch of sugar in and taking a long swig. “Thanks, Miss Mint! What’s on the menu today?”

The mare lights up at the question, prancing around Celestia to stand right next to him. She smiles broadly when he leans over to press his side against hers. Her left wing seemingly instinctively wraps around his back to squeeze him in a quick hug, which he happily accepts.

He figures that if pretty ladies want to hug on him it’s his Harmony-given duty to oblige them. “Oats, fresh fruit, some crunchy granola yogurt, aaand we just pulled a yummy cauliflower quiche out of the oven, your highness! We’ll have everything right out for you!” she giddily cheers, bobbing her head in a shallow bow before taking her leave.

Amethyst watches as the door shuts behind the mare before sucking in a lungful of air and blowing out a long, tired sigh. “Gotta get me some’a what she’s havin.” Her eyes flick to the colt opposite her. “And you… is there any mare out there you don’t try ta charm?”

Cure fluffs his wings and runs a hoof through his mane to no real effect. “Not my fault I’m naturally adorable. Besides,” he starts, holding his hoof up as if he’s offering some kind of brilliant insight, “you should always make nice with the ponies that are makin and or bringin ya yer food.”

His mother can’t help but nod in agreement. “Yer not wrong there, I reckon.”

“What is this?” Celestia asks, lifting the newspaper in her aura. She turns the paper around to show the pair the front page.

“Battle Royale! Who will win the Melee on the Mountain?” Cure reads aloud. “Seems pretty cut and dry to me, boss. Looks like somepony leaked our plans to the press. Says here we have almost even odds. Oof… that’s a harsh line right there, though. ‘Age or Beauty to be Decided This Week!’” Cure reaches over and grabs her left hoof, holding it to his chest with both of his. He looks up to meet her eyes and soulfully declares, “I don’t care what some dumb journalist thinks, Tia. You’ll always be beautiful to me.”

“I am immensely flattered,” she deadpans, pulling her hoof away from the nuisance. “Odd that I do not recall any journalists at the Chronicle named Snapped Celery or Sunbutt Stomp.”

“Odd names for a newspony,” he agrees. “You oughta see if you can steal away their photographer. Really got my good side. Then again, I suppose it’d be more of a challenge not to, given all this,” he teases, motioning to himself.

Celestia sighs in exasperation as the colt flexes and poses, moving from position to position to show off his build for the mare. “And you wonder what my staff are having with their breakfast. I fear what may happen should he share whatever it is he got a hold of.”

“I’m bettin whatever it is may outright kill a normal pony, princess.”

“Bah,” he harrumphs, dismissing the grumpy mares with a flick of his hoof. “Y’all are just old and have forgotten how ta have fun.”

“I ain’t forgot how, colt, but there’s a time ‘n a place fer it. A’fore I drank my first mug ain’t it.” Cure pouts at his mom to no avail. The mare blows out a sigh and rubs at her brow, enjoying the silence for a moment. She regards the elder alicorn who has set aside her paper and seems content to silently sip at her tea. “What's yer day lookin like, princess?”

The ancient mare sets her liter-sized mug down and exhales a small sigh. “Rather busy, I am afraid. As with every other Monday, my day will begin with a weekly brief with the chancellery. They, along with the ponies that you will be working with, should be arriving at the castle shortly. I would ask that you spare a moment to meet them, if you could.”

Cure shrugs and bobs his head in acceptance.

“Most of my morning following our meeting will be occupied by day court. Petitioners are seen beginning at nine and court does not adjourn until eleven o’clock. As much as I regret it, I do not believe I will be available to come visit you until I accompany the chancellery for their check-ups shortly thereafter. Expect the Medic Corps to accompany us to relieve the civilian employees.”

“Aww,” the colt whines. “I kinda wanted ta show off my new building to ya this morning. I have some yummy tea blends I bet you’d really like.”

“I am sorry, Cure,” she sincerely apologizes. “Mondays are unusually busy. I promise to come by as soon as I am done with court.”

Feeling guilty for acting like a petulant foal, Cure immediately changes his tune. “No, no. It’s fine. I understand, really. Would you like to have some company this morning, at least?” he offers.

Celestia doesn’t even have the opportunity to ask what he means before a flash of light heralds the arrival of a very familiar, uniquely colored, and nearly colt-sized bunny rabbit. While not as thick and muscular as Cure himself, the hare is nearly the same length and height so as to match his disguise during the previous visit. While monstrously large for a typical member of the species, its size is appropriate for a mare of Celestia’s stature to be able to meaningfully interact with it.

Amidst the princess’s delighted giggles, Bunlestia pads over to the mare and climbs between her and the table, nuzzling aggressively at the soft fur on the princess’s tummy. Cure takes care to aim high; due to the princess’s height, her teats are almost at chest height even when she’s sitting on her rump, and now very much does not feel like the right time to channel Molestia instead. The bunny barely gets two bonks in before being scooped up and held against her chest, smushed into the fluff of the happily wiggling mare.

Amethyst smiles fondly, softly chuckling at the scene of the centuries-old alicorn gushing and cooing over a bunnified, extra floofy version of herself despite knowing it is simply an extension of the colt beside her. Cure is all too happy to soak up the adoration, even if it isn’t directed at his primary body. He still gets the delightful sensation of being loved on by a soft, warm mare, something his pony brain can never seem to get enough of.

“I do believe that would be a yes,” his mom correctly observes.

“I would very much appreciate the company,” she agrees, setting the bunny back on the cushion under her barrel.

“Cool. And if you’d like, Bunlestia over there,” both mares snort at the name, “could always act as a sort-of-lie-detector.”

Celestia opens her mouth to ask for clarification, pausing when the service door opens again. Trays of fresh fruit, muffins, danishes, fancy crystal cups of yogurt, three large bowls of mixed oats and nuts, and equally ridiculously proportioned slices of a perfectly cooked quiche are left behind, putting a halt to conversation for several minutes.

“So,” Cure mumbles, his hoof over his muzzle so he’s not blasting food as he talks, “lie detector. I’m sure you’re very much aware of the tells somepony displays when they’re lying.”

“Of course,” she nods. “Refusal to meet your eyes, quickening heart rate, perspiration, odd twitches, movements of their ears… those are the more obvious signs. Some subconsciously shift their weight to a hind hoof or even shift their entire body from side to side slightly, an act often attributed to our prey-minded ancestors’ inclination to flee at a sign of potential trouble.”

“Exactly, but with my talent I can do a lot more.”

Celestia considers what all the colt is capable of. It only takes her a moment to nod in acknowledgement. “I would assume that any unconscious movement would be akin to a glowing horn in an otherwise darkened room for yourself.”

“It would, but even more than that, I can identify what regions of the brain are lighting up when they’re considering their answer. If they’re accessing memories then they’re probably recounting something that, at least, they do remember. If the creative or problem solving areas are lighting up instead, then you’re probably thinking up a lie.”

“Interesting,” the mare mumbles, pausing after a bite to consider the proposal. “Presumably that would only truly apply when recounting a past event, would it not?”

“It would be a lot more clear-cut in those instances, yes. If you’re asking somepony a theoretical question like, ‘What’s the best way to stimulate the economy?’ then, obviously, it would be a lot more difficult, maybe even impossible, to determine if the answer they’re giving is truly what they think would be best or if it’s simply a good answer that may give them some advantage.”

“I see. I shall keep that in mind should your assistance be required to solve a crime.”

“Oh yeah, definitely,” he eagerly agrees, bouncing on his seat. “I’d be like… the best forensic analyst you can imagine, too. Just let me scan a room where a crime happened and I’ll be able to tell you everypony that’s been in there. Maybe not their names,” he rushes to clarify, “but if they lost a single strand of their coat, mane, tail, or even the tiniest feather then I should be able to extrapolate a pretty good description of them.”

“Question.”

“Hm?”

“If you are able to scan and, presumably, reproduce portions of somepony’s brain, could you not also read their memories?”

The colt freezes mid-bite at the question, his face contorting in an ugly grimace. “Yes,” he hesitantly answers, “but to do so would require that I take in somepony else’s memories… that’s something I don’t think I could ever force myself to do. I think I’ve had quite enough of that experience already.”

The princess’s eyes widen in alarm, and she’s quick to lean over and rest a hoof on his withers. “I am so sorry, Cure! I had not even considered how insensitive of a question that was, given…”

“Nah, it’s alright, boss. I mean, it is a legitimate question, and I’m kinda surprised nopony else has ever thought to ask it. The truth is that I would never risk reproducing somepony else’s memories ‘cause… Well, we are, in large part, a product of our memories. If I were to try to take in the hundreds and hundreds of years worth of your memories, for example…” he trails off leadingly.

“Then you would all but be subsumed by them,” she nods in understanding.

“Yep. Probably. Assuming your memories are all stored biologically, that is.” She raises a brow in question, prompting him to explain, “Tia, if your memories were all only stored biologically, how would you have retained the ones you had prior to your reincarnations?”

A thoughtful frown crosses the mare’s muzzle as she pauses her eating. She blinks a couple times while considering the question and, once again, slowly nods in acknowledgement of the suggestion. “I suppose I had assumed that I was remade exactly as I was prior to the event, but…”

“There would have to be at least some rollback. You told me that when that happens you come back in perfect shape again. Coming back wouldn’t do much good if ya still have the poison in yer system, after all. We could kinda test that theory by seeing if memories from before that originate in your brain if you’d like.”

“I admit, I find myself warring between my curiosity and my wariness of discovering anything that would further separate me from my little ponies.”

“She said the thing!” Amethyst erupts in laughter, clopping her hooves merrily.

Cure, laughing aloud, reaches in his mane and pulls out three shot glasses with My Little Pony painted on the side. His horn glows for a second and two bottles pop into existence. Celestia immediately detects the sweet scent of grape juice that he pours in his own while the distinct aroma of a blended whiskey wafts from the other two pours.

“Salud!” he declares, hefting his own in the air and resting a hoof on the table to lean close enough for his mom to reach.

Amethyst scoops hers up and meets his toast, returning a loud, cheery “Salud!”

Both ponies freeze in place, looking at the ancient mare expectantly. A poke to her belly causes the mare to look down, finding the bunny staring back up at her. In a bizarrely deep stallion’s voice, the furry miscreant insists, “If yer not gonna hit that shit then pass it down here, will ya?”

Celestia briefly considers taking the entire bottle instead.

Once breakfast is concluded, the princess, with her faithful bunnicorn snuggling on her withers, escorts Cure and his mother to the castle’s main lobby. Amongst the throng of bodies coming or going, half dozen well dressed ponies are slowly making their way in. “Ladies and gentlestallions,” Celestia calls in greeting, getting the attention of the herd, “I do not believe you have yet had the opportunity to meet Prince Serpentus and his mother, Lady Minerva.

“Serpentus, these are the ponies upon whom I rely to advise me. I am sure you recall Duke Dandy Dresser,” she begins, smiling broadly while gesturing with a hoof to the white unicorn.

“Good morning, princess, your highness, milady,” the stallion greets with a warm smile. The smile morphs to confusion when he notices the rabbit on Celestia’s back. Cure has to choke back his laugh when he glances between it and Cure a few times trying to figure out the trick.

“Howdy, yer grace.”
“Good morning, Duke Dandy.”

Pushing aside his confusion, the older stallion inquires, “Will his highness be participating in our meeting? We have a very full agenda, it should be quite the jolly good time.”

The colt stamps a hoof and groans in mock disappointment. “Aww, as much as I hate missing out, I do have a few dozen folks waiting for me.”

“Ah, yes. We noticed the facility constructed by the north gate. The guards said it grew from… a piece of luggage?”

“That’s what it started as,” Cure confirms. “I’d tell ya more, but the boss lady says we’re supposed to be all mysterious and stuff. Part of the job description, you know.”

“Of course, of course,” he agrees, looking meaningfully at the bunny that, for a split second, seemed to be smirking at him. “Her majesty does indeed find amusement in her tricks, doesn’t she?”

Celestia smiles at the byplay, then nods to a dark maroon unicorn mare, “Lady Fair Start, Chancellor of Domestic and Foreign Affairs,” then to a light brown earth pony mare, “Lady Greenbriar Patch, Agriculture and Food Security. She’s been kept quite busy preparing to distribute all of your specialized seeds.”

“Absolutely, your highness!” the earth pony mare cheers. “We’re estimating an increase in yield of nearly two hundred percent for some crops!”

Cure recoils at the ridiculously high number. Wide-eyed, he looks up at the princess for confirmation. “Do not look so shocked, Serpentus. In my long life I have seen the benefits of selectively breeding all variety of crops. What you accomplished overnight resulted in similar or perhaps even greater improvements than even hundreds of generations of progress would have yielded.”

“Oh,” he mumbles still reeling from the surprise.

“‘Oh’ he says!” the mare chuckles. “You were, of course, right, your majesty. He had no idea, did he?”

“I would not expect such a young foal to have sufficient knowledge of crop development to truly grasp the impact of his actions.” She reaches down and briefly nuzzles her snout into his mane, saying, “Though his contributions are less widely touted than those in healthcare, they will no doubt be every bit as valuable to our citizens, and the world at large, in the long run.”

In a voice so soft Cure can easily see it being overpowered by the ambient noise alone, a light blue pegasus stallion with a navy mane interrupts. “I’m more interested in the report I received from Colonel Sharp. Talk about adding value…”

Cure glances to the princess, brow raised in question. “Colonel Sharp is the superintendent at the Maelstrom Academy. Chancellor Stormsurge,” she motions with her muzzle to the pegasus, “was informed that a student was the recipient of a procedure prior to his arrival. One that has, apparently, shown significant results.”

Cure feels a surge of adrenaline course through his veins. He slowly pans his gaze back to the pegasus and inquires, “And this report… When, exactly, did you receive it?” The room goes still at the softly spoken question; the colt fully unaware of the gentle swaying of his golden mane.

Celestia’s hoof on his withers calms his rising ire. “Peace, Serpentus. The dispatch addressed to you will be awaiting your return to Baltimare. The good colonel’s missives were sent with all due haste, as you ordered.” She turns back to the pegasus and proposes, “Perhaps the subject can be discussed further when you see Serpentus later this morning, chancellor.” The stallion accepts the suggestion with a barely perceptible nod.

“Maker above,” Chancellor Fair Start mumbles as everypony, save the princess and Amethyst, collectively exhales in relief. “No wonder the griffons like him so much.”

A yellow pegasus with a deep red mane snorts a laugh, nodding in agreement. “And he’s certainly not an alicorn,” she sarcastically quips. “Lady Valorous Call, your highness,” she greets with a bow of head. “Chancellor of Health and Family Resources. I would argue with Lady Greenbriar that your contributions have benefited those under me the most, and I must say I’m incredibly excited to hear of your plans to begin speaking at schools.

“I had thought to propose such an idea myself, but had not yet broached the subject with her majesty. To hear of you taking the initiative to reach out to other foals…” she pauses to take a deep breath and smiles, in all likelihood, as broadly as her face can possibly manage, exclaiming, “I simply could not be more thrilled to hear of it! I look forward to seeing your success!”

“Hopefully I can live up to your expectations, Lady… Valor?” he questions, earning a pleased smile and a nod. “I admit, I’m a little worried about what questions the other foals will come up with. Sorry to change the subject, though,” he turns to Chancellor Start, “what was that about the griffons? I’ve barely interacted with them.”

The maroon unicorn shrugs and explains, “I had thought not, but Darius insists you have the ‘heart of a griffon,’ whatever that means. Whatever you did in your meeting, it seemed to have made quite the first impression.”

Cure isn’t sure if she’s referring to the bizarre stare-down at his coronation or when he demonstrated the futility of attempting to sever his own leg, but he supposes that either probably would be a little unusual for most foals. Or, possibly, somepony somehow figured out that he can turn into a hippogriff and likes to visit griffon restaurants.

“Ah. I see,” he mumbles, not volunteering an explanation of the possible reasons. He regards what he assumes is the last member of the chancellery, a tall, but exceedingly slim unicorn with a slightly graying black coat and a bright yellow mane. “By process of elimination, that would make you Chancellor Sheets, I presume?”

“Indeed, your highness,” the stallion replies, barely lowering his snout from the sky in the shallowest bow that Cure has probably ever received. “A pleasure, though I understand I may not be your most favorite pony ever. Her majesty mentioned your aversion to the current tax system… not something I would expect a young stallion such as yourself to have a strong opinion on.”

Cure waves his right forehoof in dismissal, insisting, “Actually, the tax system seems just fine. It’s a heck of a lot simpler than many I’ve heard of. That doesn’t mean I was happy when the bill came due, though.”

“Tha colt just ‘bout got his muzzle washed out with soap by his dam from the way his sire tells it,” Amethyst interjects with a smirk.

Cure paws at the ground and hangs his head. “I… may have let a few… more colorful things slip.” He rallies all at once, holding his head up high as he insists, “In my defense, my first tax bill was far, far higher than I had expected.”

“The first one is usually rather painful,” the stallion agrees. A moment of silence falls on the room at his unfortunate phrasing, interrupted when Amethyst snorts out a laugh. Despite his dark coat, the stallion’s face and ears flush as the female members of the group quietly titter in amusement.

“Right… Well, on that note,” Cure begins, bobbing his head in a respectful nod, “I think I see at least one familiar pony waiting for me so we can get started. We don’t want to leave anypony waiting, though it was nice to finally put some faces to the names. Princess,” he waves a wing, “ladies and lords. Have fun in your meeting.”

The others call back their farewells as Amethyst and Cure depart to approach another group who had been quietly watching from just inside the main entrance. “Nurse Glade!” he calls in greeting as he approaches the mare. “I just knew you couldn’t wait to see me again!”

The green earth pony gives Cure a small smile and bows in greeting. “Good morning, highness. It is good to see you despite your… oddness,” she teases.

“I’ve been called worse. I can live with ‘odd.’”

“I’m sure, your highness. I’m not really a nurse, you know? Just an assistant.”

“Eh, details, schmetails,” he dismisses with a shrug. “If you can keep everypony flowing like you did during the births then I’ll call ya whatever you want.”

An unfamiliar white unicorn mare in a stereotypical doctor’s coat steps forward, not quite interposing herself between Cure and Nurse Glade, but still positioning herself ahead of the mare. “Good morning, your highness,” she greets with a bow. “Dr. Warm Pulse. I head the Pediatrics Department at the Canterlot University Medical Center. With all due respect, I’ll be acting as your supervising physician this morning, sir.”

“Sounds good, doc. Hopefully it won’t be too boring of a day for you.”

“I’m sure it won’t, sir! I consider myself very lucky to get the assignment.”

“Well… we’ll just see how you feel in a few hours.”

Lying just west and slightly to the south of the castle’s north perimeter gate, Cure’s completed clinic stands tall and proud, ready to receive its first ever visitors. Opting to go for a simple, clean, yet inviting façade, the east-facing front of the building is a white wooden plank design, though if anypony were to look closely they would quickly realize that the seams between the boards are purely cosmetic; the entire building is, in fact, one single piece of wood occupying a thirty-by-thirty meter square.

It’s the first time Cure’s ever constructed a full-sized building and, in all likelihood, he figures he probably went a little overboard on the thickness of the floor, walls, and the four support beams each located ten meters in from the building’s corners. The meter-thick slabs of hardwood could likely support the sloped, triangular roof’s weight a dozen times over. The Canterhorn historically has never had an earthquake, but he’s rather confident that even should the worst happen, his little clinic will still be in one piece, even if it’s at the bottom of the mountain.

Though only a single story, the colt made sure to construct the facility tall enough that even Celestia could stand at her full, glorious height with several meters of hornroom to spare. All accommodations are designed so that everypony from the smallest pegasus to the tallest earth pony stallion will feel welcome; a necessity given the wide variety of officers he’ll likely see over the coming week.

Staring from the outside, there’s little for the ponies accompanying him to see. Tall, wide windows made of transparent wood span the majority of the front, along with a short, wide ramp leading up the slight incline to two sets of wide double doors. Cure had considered adding a small porch area, but couldn’t really envision anypony just hanging out outside his clinic; families would mostly be taking off as soon as they’re treated and there’s more than adequate lobby space inside the building.

“Aaaannnnd they just put this up overnight?” Glade asks, eying the building suspiciously.

“Nope.”

“I didn’t think so,” she comments, nodding in acceptance.

“I built it overnight. Myself.” Several heads slowly turn in the colt’s direction, staring in disbelief. “Technically, I grew it, I suppose. Ask the sarge,” he suggests, tossing his head back towards the unicorn.

“It grew out of a chest,” the stallion confirms, the other two guards nodding along with him. “Sgt. Duskdale spent most of the night running the gawking guards off. Had a few that even tried to get in, apparently.”

“Yep,” Cure chirps. “Guess they got curious, but they couldn’t get in. Unsafe construction site, ya know? The doors were locked up tight.”

“But… How?!” the mare questions.

“How’d I lock the doors?” Cure teases, earning a deadpan stare. He fully extends his wings, waving them lazily in the air and, in a spooky-ghost voice, answers, “Mystical alicorn cow manure.”

“That’s not really an explanation, your highness,” Glade argues, huffing in exaggerated annoyance.

The irritating colt smiles broadly and bobs his head in acknowledgement. “Yeah, I know. It’s more fun if I don’t tell you though. For me, that is,” he clarifies unnecessarily. “Maybe not as fun for you, but that ‘It’s not even eight o’clock and I’m done with your crap’ look greatly amuses me. Now c’mon,” he calls, trotting up the ramp to push the doors open, “our first patients will be here soon and we need to get you all situated.”

Fighting back a sigh, the mare joins everypony else as they follow the colt up the ramp towards the building, the group pausing only a moment to read a half-meter square sign posted on both sides of the entryway.

::ATTENTION::
You are entering an area with active scanning medical magic present.
Any and all creatures will be subject to a thorough medical scan immediately upon entry.

Nopony seems to care at all; after a moment’s glance they all continue on and enter the building, not even batting an eye when the nearly imperceptible tingle of magic washes over their coats.

Rather than the expected hard flooring, a thick, plush moss-like material covers the floor, completely eliminating the sound of hooffalls. Soft floral scents and the smell of freshly cut grass fill the room without being overbearing.

Light birch wood walls allow the light flooding in from the windows and numerous skylights to illuminate the area, showing a large lobby with dozens of low sitting couches arranged in blocks for families to lay together. Strangely glowing vines line several of the overhead beams, supplementing the lighting for areas not directly under the skylights.

An area in the northwest corner seems set aside for foals; even from the entrance Glade can make out numerous toys and plush dolls laid out to entertain any visiting youths. The south wall has a low-sitting counter running its length covered in a veritable smorgasbord of vine-grown fresh fruits, juice dispensers, and even a coffee and tea service. The several-liter metal vats seem oddly out of place in the otherwise nature-themed building, but are a welcome sight nonetheless.

Serene Glade can’t even fathom how that in particular grew out of a foal’s travel luggage, nor where in the world the water to supply everything is coming from. She’s fairly certain the building isn’t tied into the city’s water and sewage system, which makes her reluctantly wonder how the bathrooms along the north wall operate.

A long, wooden desk portions off a small workspace for her and the ponies managing the patients’ records. It spans the length from the south wall to shortly before the door to the young prince’s office that occupies the entire southwest corner of the building. Her own workstation is labeled with a placard bearing her name, which is odd since, based on his reaction at the castle, he apparently did not know she would be present. Smaller, more softly glowing lamps on adjustable vines give the desk additional lighting.

“Feel free to snack all you want,” the little alicorn insists, waving his left wing towards the refreshments. “Anything you eat or drink will replenish itself almost instantly. Don’t go completely hog wild, though. I’m not super keen on having to treat everypony’s tummy aches because they couldn’t hold back. Also, feel free to take some with you when we’re done today if you want. And sarge, if any of the patrols want to stop in on their breaks they’re free to grab a snack, too.

“Momma, why don’t you get yourself a cup of the good stuff over there,” he says, motioning to the tall, aluminum tank of coffee. “There’s sugar and a variety of creamers to choose from. You can get yerself a snack then head back to the room for a nap if ya want.”

“Sounds good, colt,” she readily agrees, beelining for the vat of sacred brew. “I’ll stick around fer a bit, then head back.”

“Cool. There’s a few file cabinets behind the desk for the patient files,” he points out, glancing towards the employees from Records that are responsible for ensuring they are kept safe, “and you’ll find plenty of quills, inkpots, paper, and whatever supplies you’ll need in the drawers. If there’s something I forgot just let me know; I don’t typically work the front desk, obviously, but I think I’ve got the most common forms ready to go. Doc?” he calls out, looking towards the very overwhelmed mare.

She belatedly realizes he’s addressing her and stops gawking at the building. “Huh?”

“You’re with me,” he insists, pushing his own door open and trotting through. “Hurry up, the first few ponies are passing through the gate now.”

“How the hay does he know that?” she quietly asks the room.

“You heard the colt,” his lead guard smirks, “mystical alicorn cow manure. You should probably get acquainted with your shared office, ma’am,” he suggests, motioning towards the door.

“Right. Sure,” she warily agrees, mustering up the resolve to follow the ridiculous colt into a private office. The decor inside is much the same as the lobby with some minor changes. Similar to the bizarre refreshment plants growing outside, a flowering array of vines takes up nearly the entirety of the west and south walls, leaving openings for two room-spanning windows that, while providing plenty of light, are covered by partially opaque pull-down blinds. The mass of plants continues down the wall, partially obscured by a single, long, L-shaped couch that seems like it grew from the wall itself; a likely proposition considering the building’s source and apparent method of construction.

A desk with a built-in cushion is situated just south of the door and faces the couch. A single quill rests in an inkpot to the right side, as does a stack of blank pieces of paper. A crystal of some kind is embedded in a raised pedestal on the front of the desk, the function of which Dr. Pulse can’t immediately discern. Touching it with her magic reveals it to be enchanted with Illusion, a fact that causes her even more confusion.

“That’s for me to show you what I’m doing,” the colt volunteers in explanation from behind her. “I figure you’ll want to approve everything since we’ve not worked together and, rather than tell you, it’ll be easier and a whole lot faster to just show you instead.”

“Ah. I see.”

“Like I said,” he continues, “this’ll probably be pretty boring for you. The first patient is here with her family, so go ahead and get comfortable and let me know if there’s anything you want me to go over in detail.”

“Sure, okay,” the doctor agrees. She climbs onto the cushion and leans her barrel on the padded surface the desk is anchored to. It’s a little odd, she notes, for a unicorn to have a setup like that. Most prefer to write with their horns rather than their hooves, so freeing up her forelegs isn’t really necessary. Then again, the colt was an earth pony, she considers, so it’s probably just what he’s used to.

A knock at the door prompts the colt to call out, “Enter!” revealing Nursing Assistant Glade holding a file out.

“Your first patient is here, highness.”

The young prince takes the folder with a grateful nod. “Great! Send…” he pauses to look at the paperwork, “her in whenever she’s ready. Thanks!”

“Right away, sir,” she nods, pulling the door shut behind her.

The colt floats the papers over to Dr. Pulse who quickly reviews the file. “Pegasus mare, aged twenty-six, tentatively diagnosed with multiple sclerosis at… oof… showed symptoms early. Fifteen. Lost the ability to fly by twenty-three and symptoms seem to be developing unusually quickly.”

She closes the file and sets it on her desk, looking up to meet the colt’s eyes. “Frankly, highness, there’s little I could do to help this mare even if I were qualified. I understand there has been some success using neurological regeneration spells, but with the difficulty in targeting the spinal column… I’m unaware of anypony having anything close to a cure.”

“Right,” he agrees with a nod, “and this is one of those instances where what I do seems to fix the problem, but I have absolutely no way to explain the how. My best guess based on before and after observation is that I, somehow, magically reprogram the immune system to stop attacking the nervous system. Honestly, autoimmune disorders are a major source of frustration for me since I much prefer to develop treatments for this kind of stuff to be distributed everywhere rather than having to fix it one pony at a time. It’s like cancer, in a way.”

“I’m not an oncologist, sir. I know enough, but, thank the maker, it’s a diagnosis I’ve only had to give a hooffull of times.”

“Ah. Well, to grossly oversimplify it, for every creature that has cancer, there’s a slightly different type of cancer, unfortunately. I have a possible fix being analyzed by the eggheads, but there’s some potential issues with it.” Namely, that it also reverses aging, Cure doesn’t say. He takes a deep breath and blows out a sigh. “Well… enough of the depressing crap. Wanna take bets on whether I score a hug outta this?”

The odds of getting a hug for giving a pegasus back the sky? she ponders. There’s no way I’m betting against that.

In the Chancellery Meeting

Taking his position at the opposite end of the conference table, Duke Dandy keeps a keen eye trained on her majesty as she briefly frets over the odd pet accompanying her while everypony else seats themselves. A flash of the princess’s horn summons an opulent golden brush; one gifted to the mare by some Saddle Arabian sheikh attempting to gain her favor some two hundred years ago, supposedly.

With delicate and precise motions, she runs the brush through the doe’s mane and tidies its brow, carefully avoiding an accidental tap to its horn, then gently grooms its chin, neck, and cheeks. The bunny relishes the attention, leaning heavily into the velvety bristles while her hind leg quietly thumps atop her majesty’s pillow. A sinfully fluffy little wing rises as the mare’s hoof drifts further back, and the critter nearly falls over itself when a particularly pleasurable, judging from its body language, spot is found just beneath its wing joint.

A sonorous laugh fills the room with warmth, energizing the stallion more than even the most stout cup of piping hot tea on a cold winter morn. It’s the rare times like these that bring a genuine smile to the old stallion’s face; the times when the ancient and indescribably powerful mare that singlehornedly juggles the heavens lets fall her princessly mein and indulges in a simple, wholesome, joyful act.

“I’m pleased to find the windows intact, Tia,” he teases. “Shall I advise Creature Resources to begin the hunt for a Royal Caretaker?”

“No,” she sighs, “as delightful as a more attentive pet would be, this one will be departing when Serpentus does.”

“Should we be concerned?” Chan. Greenbriar inquires. “Creating plants is one thing, but entirely new animals? That rabbit has a horn and, admittedly, small wings. Can it use them?”

“I rather suspect it could, but there is no reason to worry. As a rule, he ensures that his creations are unable to reproduce.” A sly smirk crosses the mare’s muzzle. “Perhaps the groundskeepers could find some male bunnies to see if she has any interest in them, just to be sure.”

Cure briefly considers giving the princess a nip, but that would give up the game. This is quickly turning into the exact scenario he described when he suggested pretending to be a dog and messing with the Golden Hills guards. He’s half tempted to go out and find a real rabbit to alter and pull a switcheroo with, but giving somepony an unexpected and unsolicited pet falls firmly in “dick move” territory, infinite resources or not.

Of course, joking about putting his puppet in a situation where other rabbits would attempt to get freaky with him is quite a bit worse, even if there’s absolutely zero chance of any such thing happening. A slight adjustment of the bunny’s scent to that of a predator would have any would-be suitors fleeing in an instant.

“I’m more worried about his response to my comment,” Stormsurge grumbles in his typical soft voice. “Col. Sharp ultimately reports to me. There is no reason to get worked up over such an insignificant thing as a notice being tardy.”

Celestia hums while absently nodding. “While I would not typically disagree, bear in mind that he has been stolen from, spied upon, and then, finally, targeted by both international and domestic groups attempting to foalnap or, perhaps, outright kill him. I would argue that asking to be notified when the results of his efforts are disclosed is not overly burdensome, nor is it unreasonable. Also, I would remind you that by Equestrian law, you do report to him,” Celestia adds, “and he to myself, chancellor. Any request such as his is well within the bounds of his authority.”

The cerulean pegasus reluctantly nods in acceptance. “As you say, princess.”

“As interesting as the rabbit is,” Valor interrupts, “we have a lot to cover and court begins in less than an hour, so if you don’t mind…?” she drifts off, waving a document in her hoof. She barely waits for Celestia to nod before continuing, “I have an update regarding the gender selection treatment. The latest nest of mice are, by all accounts, completely healthy. We’re moving forward with pony testing and already have six couples scheduled to come in for testing next week.”

“We should be hoofing the stuff out to the Guard while everypony is in town,” Stormsurge argues. “We’d have an entire new generation of guard stallions in a decade and a half. All from good stock that would be more than eager to participate in the experiment.”

“I am not authorizing widescale testing, Storm,” Valor immediately cuts back. “The last thing you want is a bunch of guard mares busy at home taking care of retarded foals. We have to make sure it’s safe first. Besides, it’s not like we don’t get plenty of foals out of this every year anyhow.”

“I suppose, but why would it even matter if the foals are retarded? His highness can just wave his horn and fix them when they’re born anyhow,” the stallion argues. He motions to the room of mostly mares and adds, “I figured you would all leap at the chance to have a few hundred more colts instead of more fillies runnin around.”

“We are not having this argument again,” Celestia tiredly interrupts. “While I have the utmost confidence they will work as intended, Serpentus’ creations will go through proper testing and verification the same as anything before being made available for widespread use.” She turns back to Valor and inquires, “What are the results of your experiments with his antiviral trees? Are we prepared to release them for general use?”

“We are,” the mare confirms. “Testing has proceeded quickly due in large part to the changes he made during his last visit. It’s far easier to test individual antiviral agents rather than testing a whole swath of them to ensure they’re safe. We’re coordinating with Colonel Sanguine over the Medic Corps to ensure swift and secure distribution channels are established for both the antiviral treatments and the vaccines.”

She nods to Stormsurge who chimes in, adding, “The colonel’s squads are all in place and waiting to go. Notices have been distributed to all of the RHAs and regional captains. The instant anypony out there so much as sniffles we’ll have their samples collected and delivered overnight. Logistics officers are on standby around the clock, ma’am.”

“Further,” Valor continues, “we have plans in the works to securely transport a pair of trees via rail to any of the metros in case of an outbreak situation. Our offices’ actuaries are anticipating a mortality rate as functionally close to zero as is statistically possible. I would only ask that should the trees themselves be inadequate, we consider asking his highness’s parents to make him available to deploy as necessary.”

“I will broach the subject with them at the next opportunity,” Celestia responds. “Given their aid in the creation of his first antiviral trees, I suspect they would be amenable to such a request. Do keep in mind that Serpentus is but a foal. We already ask much of him and his family; I am loath to continue asking for more.”

Sheets speaks up saying, “I agree with her majesty. He’s volunteering literal months of his time to help with the births and attend functions such as today’s, not to mention his nine hours per week he spends at Baltimare Hospital. His presence will benefit Equestria for centuries, but he will only have this one foalhood,” he impassionately argues. “We should exhaust all other options and, only if the situation is truly dire, ask to begin shipping him all over the nation.”

“Very well,” Valor agrees. “I will, of course, keep everypony updated as the situation progresses. My bet is we’ll have our first few cases cropping up any day now.”

“Excellent. Also please keep me updated on what you find with his bug creations. They are not as high of a priority, but they do represent a significant advancement in our defensive capabilities.”

“Certainly, princess.”

“Me as well,” Stormsurge insists. “I want to know if he can make ones to target other creatures. Our analysts in Zebrabwe reported some movement from the Matobo Tribe. It seems they’re starting to feel the pinch from falling exports.”

“I would expect so,” Chan. Sheets interrupts. “Our spending on their medicines has dwindled significantly just over the last two months. The lack of demand from our nation has caused a small stockpile to develop, costing them even more on storage. I understand many of those elixirs are quite finicky with their storage requirements.”

“They are,” Chan. Valor adds. “Light, temperature, and vibration all need accounted for, of course, but I understand only limited quantities can be stored within a certain are due to some kind of… metaphysical radiation?”

“That is correct,” Celestia confirms. “Magically charged substances have to be isolated from each other, lest their energies compound or mix in unexpected ways.”

Stormsurge clears his throat to get everypony’s attention. “As interesting as this is, the crux of the matter is that we’re concerned they may decide to send some ‘ambassadors’ for a visit. Having something like those bugs that could disable en masse at range, such as targeted, venomous swarms of bugs, would be immensely helpful.”

Celestia shakes her head in denial, explaining, “While I have little doubt he could, I would not approve of such an indiscriminate weapon’s use. If you find evidence that a team has been dispatched then inform me immediately and we will respond as appropriate.”

“Understood, ma’am. We’ve already alerted agents in coastal cities to keep an eye out.”

Celestia accepts the stallion’s response with a nod. “Moving on to more immediate concerns, are there any last minute issues with preparations for the competition itself?”

“None other than the usual,” Stormsurge answers, shaking his head. “Countess Gust is being a nuisance, I’m sure you’re surprised to hear.”

“Every year,” Chan. Sheets grumbles. “Her squad already costs three times as much as nearly every other team and she still insists that the accommodations are inadequate! I say we issue a stipend and make everypony that wants to put their squad in nicer hotels pay the difference.”

“That wouldn’t be fair to her squad and you know it,” Stormsurge argues. “They need the larger accommodations and it’s certainly not their fault that Vanhoofer is so far away.”

“It isn’t,” the dark stallion agrees, “but complaining about it at every competition is her choice, and my team spends an inordinate amount of time trying to satisfy her each year rather than being thanked and left alone like they should be.”

“I keep telling you to use the same hotel each time,” Stormsurge grumbles.

“And I keep telling you that the other hotels with adequate rooming complain that they are being excluded from selection!”

Duke Dandy interrupts the pair before they can get out of hoof, calling out in a raised voice, “I’m sure Countess Gust is simply looking out for her squad. The event is still well within the proposed budget, so perhaps we should move on to other topics. That is, unless there is something else that needs discussed?” he inquires, looking between the two.

“No,” Sheets responds at the same time Stormsurge shakes head, saying, “Nothing on my end.”

Celestia shoots her old friend a grateful nod. “Fantastic. Sheets?”

“Yes, ma’am?”

“Have there been any updates on the trade negotiations with the griffons?”

“Yes, your highness. King Guto is reportedly impressed with the increased yield from test farms with managed weather, and has appointed Lady Helena Driftmark to investigate expanding the program to additional crops such as tobacco and cotton. We’re expecting a request to meet to discuss the next phase any day now.”

“How wonderful! Please reach out to Marchioness Gulfwing to ensure an adequate workforce will be available.”

The stallion gives a single mirthless chuckle. “Given the incentives we’re offering to pegasi willing to spend a season there, I doubt that will be a problem, majesty.”

“Fantastic. This may be a good opportunity to also broach the subject of constructing an additional weather factory somewhere nearer the east coast. Given its location and already present infrastructure, I would think Baltimare to be an ideal location.”

Despite his best efforts to not listen in on Celestia’s meeting too much, Cure couldn’t help but learn a few things. In a way, he feels a little guilty for inadvertently eavesdropping, but if Celestia had simply Sent him a message, he could have easily turned off the creature’s ability to hear, so as long as he has her tacit approval he doesn’t feel too bad about it.

Based on Ed’s memories, he assumed the meeting would be boring and wholly unnecessary. That doesn’t seem to be the case, though. With only an hour set aside to cover the biggest topics coming up across the entire nation, he found that the meeting moved quickly and was, for the most part, very informative.

Not only that, but learning how the chancellery interacted with each other was rather interesting. Cure had always held this idea in his head that every word spoken by the princess was treated as if it was a missive from the maker herself, but that doesn’t quite seem to be the case. There’s no shortage of reverence placed on the mare, that’s for sure, the majority of the unnecessary formality was discarded once the meeting got underway.

Hearing the duke address the princess by a nickname caused the colt’s real body to go wide-eyed and almost coaxed a reaction from his bunny puppet as well.

It’s just shy of eleven o’clock when Cure finishes with his last patient, his rabbit puppet allowing him to be aware of the herd of ponies headed his way. Celestia is present, of course, as are Duke Dandy, his wife, their presumed adult children, and two young fillies that must be their grandchildren, the younger of which is waving at everypony she passes from atop Bunlestia’s back; the rabbit in question zooming and zipping to and fro at her rider’s command.

Cure briefly wonders why the chancellors aren’t accompanying the two before mentally dope slapping himself; it wouldn’t make a lot of sense to have five additional ponies and their entire families come at once when they’re working under the assumption that Cure needs several minutes to heal each pony.

“Well doc, it looks like your relief is finally here,” he says, pulling his office door open with his horn. “The princess, duke, and his family are on their way with a squad of medics to swap out with all of you. Are you coming back Wednesday or is somepony else rotating in?”

The mare looks legitimately saddened when she shakes her head no. “Unfortunately it won’t be me again.” She climbs out of her desk and begins packing away a number of printouts Cure made for her; detailed anatomical drawings much like the ones decorating his office in Baltimare. “I was serious when I said I got lucky; we drew lots to see who got assigned here. I think Dr. Steady Flow will be here on Wednesday, but I don’t recall who won Friday’s shift.”

“Ah. A shame. Maybe I’ll see you in Detrot come January then.”

“Maybe, sir, depending on where I get shipped off to. Have a good day and thanks for the diagrams!”

The two exit the office to find everypony packing up. Desks are cleaned up, trash is thrown away, and files are secured in a locked saddlebag by a pegasus charged with taking them directly to the hospital’s records department. The only ponies not getting ready to head out the door are a patrol squad that stopped in to grab some refreshments.

Cure smirks when he sees them watching everypony leave. He turns their way and hollers out, “Quick! Look busy! The boss is comin!” They all momentarily freeze, then frantically bolt, trying to line up to come to attention, tripping and smashing into each other with drinks and snacks flying all over. It’s like something straight out of a cartoon.

Even the timing is perfect; the door swings open to the ancient alicorn just as the final mare lands in place, spins to face her, and snaps off a salute while her eyes lock onto a stray feather drifting slowly to the ground between them.

Having watched the squad’s manic rush to appear orderly through the windows during her approach, Celestia barely suppresses a laugh when she turns in their direction. “At ease. You are welcome to relax and enjoy your break, corporal. I take it the refreshments are to your liking?”

“Yes, ma’am!” The mare replies, stalwartly ignoring the spilled grape juice running down her foreleg. “The lemonade is phenomenal, ma’am! Even better’n dam used to make it!”

The stallion to her right nods eagerly, levitating a filled paper cup to the princess in offering. “It’s raspberry flavored, your majesty!”

Celestia lights up her horn and takes the, relative to her, tiny cup with a grateful nod and knocks it back in one go. “Thank you, Private Eclair. I agree; that was quite delicious, and very refreshing! You may resume your break; you need not pay us any mind.”

The dopey smile he gives the princess reminds Cure of a lovesmitten foal pining after an older, disinterested mare. It’s cute and, if it weren’t so wholesome and innocent, would probably be a little sad.

The princess, along with the duke and his family, pause a moment to take in the building, marveling at the structure that, as far as most of them understand, grew from a box overnight. “This is quite an upgrade compared to the tents we planned to use,” the stallion stoically observes.

“I am rather proud of it,” Cure admits. “The lobby is a bit over the top considering I’ve not really had anypony waiting very long, but I didn’t hear any complaints from anypony. Especially in regards to the wall of refreshments.”

“I would imagine not,” he agrees. Dandy beckons for his wife to step beside him and motions to the slate-gray mare in introduction. Cure recalls seeing her for the first time on the morning of his coronation, though with the poor lighting at the time he mistook her mane color for black. It was only when his rabbit spotted the mare outside that he realized it’s actually a navy color just a shade or two darker than the duke’s. “Your highness, allow me to introduce my beloved, Duchess Elegant Dresser, my granddaughter and her husband, Gilded Gown and Bottom Line, and their daughters Enchanted Slip and Summer Dress.

“My son and his wife would be here, but he is currently holding down the fort, as it were; preparing to take over in my stead and all that, you understand.” Cure offers a nod in acceptance as the stallion ducks his head in a shallow bow, saying, “I’m sure his highness, Prince Serpentus, needs no introduction.”

“A pleasure. How about you four,” he nods to the younger couple and their foals, “go get something to snack on while we,” he waves to himself and their parents, “head on into my office. We shouldn’t be more than a few minutes, so I wouldn’t suggest getting too comfortable.”

Plan agreed upon, Cure begins leading the couple into his office, momentarily thrown off when the princess decides to accompany them. For a split second he contemplates asking her what she thinks she’s doing, but when neither the duke or duchess raise any objection he figures she would only need to step outside if somepony speaks up.

Of course, that’s only a theoretical anyhow since, given who she is, there’s certainly the argument that the mare could go wherever she damn well pleases, and even if somepony has the balls to raise a fuss there is very little that they realistically do about her presence.

The image of somepony hauling the princess up by her scruff and tossing her out the front door like a troublemaker at an old western saloon briefly flits through the colt’s mind, forcing him to hold back a chuckle.

“Princess,” he calls, extending his wing towards the couch on the south wall in invitation, then to the one along the west wall, “and if my esteemed patients would go ahead and make themselves comfortable, we’ll get you all taken care of and on your way in no time.”

“Yes, of course,” the stallion agrees as everypony gets situated. Cure hops up to join the princess, but simply lays beside her instead of the typical snuggling.

The attempt to maintain his professionalism is summarily disposed of when, to the great amusement of the others, the ancient alicorn pulls him between her forelegs and nuzzles into his mane. “I must thank you for allowing your pet to join me this morning. I fear little Silken Shaw will be heartbroken when it comes time for them to depart.”

“I do not look forward to that tantrum,” Dandy agrees. “That, however, is the beauty of being a grandparent - or, great grandparent in this case - the ability to give them back to their dam and sire when they act up.”

“Oh, please,” Elegant rolls her eyes good naturedly. “You say that, but nopony pacifies those foals like Grandpa Dandy.”

The stallion seems to radiate pride despite being called out. “Yes, well, I suppose they are both rather cooperative fillies, fortunately.”

Cure has a very good idea as to why the duke brought his family with him, but pounces on the opportunity to get on with his task. If he takes time to chit chat with everypony on his schedule today then he will be here all night. “I’m a little surprised you brought them along. They both seem like healthy, energetic fillies.”

“Ah, yes,” the duke agrees. “They are, thank the maker. They are simply accompanying their parents. I understand your highness will be quite busy over the coming days. I was hesitant to ask that the others take the opportunity his highness so generously offered, but… well,” he drifts off looking slightly uncomfortable.

Fortunately his wife steps in to finish the explanation before Cure can ask. “Gilded had confided in me her desire to try for a son again. With the season hitting next week, we had hoped there may be something that his highness could suggest that may prove helpful.”

“I see. Two things. First, feel free to call me by my real name when we’re behind closed doors. Cure Wave,” he offers to the duchess, “in case that hasn’t been shared with you.”

“I had not disclosed any of your details,” Dandy is quick to respond while his wife nods in agreement. “Her majesty requested discretion even before your first visit. I have no doubt whatsoever that her request had been heeded by any who heard it.”

“Cool. Either way, no need for formalities with me behind closed doors. Now then, as far as Mr. Line’s results are concerned, I take medical information privacy very, very seriously, so I will have to discuss that subject with the patients themselves.”

“I understand,” she begins, appearing slightly frustrated, “but Gilded already told me his test results and she was devastated to find he could only sire fillies!” Celestia maintains her stoicism, but for whatever reason the subject of his granddaughter testing his grandson’s spunk seems to be causing Duke Dandy a small amount of discomfort.

The mare doesn’t even bat an eye, continuing, “I told her to have him take the test again in the hopes that it was simply her magic interfering with the results, but they were the same no matter what she did!”

It suddenly occurs to Cure that he may be indirectly responsible for more stallions blowing their loads than any other single pony on the planet. He’s not exactly sure if he should be immensely proud or horrified. Oddly, he hasn't seen any studies indicating what percentage of ponies are good enough with their telekinesis aura or their horn to rub one off. Then again, in all likelihood that’s almost certainly a skill anystallion would strive to develop during their teenage years. If not, with the massively skewed gender ratio he figures most probably found a willing assistant fairly easily. So, proud. Tentatively.

“Dearest, young Cure Wave will no doubt discuss the matter when he sees them. There’s no need to concern yourself at the moment, I am certain.”

“Very well,” she sighs, leaning against her husband. “I suppose I could simply discuss the matter with Gilded after her consultation. I only ask that you do what you can, your highness. I would be extraordinarily grateful to have a great grandson to dote on come next summer. I understand there is a treatment in the works, but it is still undergoing testing, correct?”

“There is a treatment being tested for something related, but right now I’m the only one that can fix the issue that you described,” Cure explains. “In regards to your granddaughter, with her and Mr. Line’s blessing I am sure that there is something we can come up with to help.”

She gives him a curt nod in acceptance. “Excellent. Then I shall look forward to the good news.”

Dandy coughs awkwardly. “Moving on from our grandson’s… virility… What is the process for this?” he asks, waving at the room in general.

“Pretty simple, really. Mrs. Dresser, overall you’re in excellent health, so if you’re okay with it, I’ll basically give you a full once-over. All those lovely aches and pains that the years have gifted you will be naught but a memory. I can’t do the cosmetic stuff right now because that ties back to my real identity, so you won’t look very different but you’ll feel like you did in your twenties.”

The mare gains a pensive look, obviously thrilled that she’ll have her health restored but visibly disappointed that it won’t be reflected in her appearance. While he is sympathetic, there is no way he is going to have Prince Serpentus doing the same treatment that Cure Wave does for however many dozens or hundreds of ponies he sees over the coming days.

He’s also not enamored with the idea of giving the service away for free to somepony who probably has more wealth in one of her jewelry stand’s drawers than his entire family has cumulatively earned over their entire lives. It would be ridiculously unfair for him to charge ponies that make a fraction of what she does full price then give the cosmetic treatment to her for free. He only did that with Manesota and Tailahassee to demonstrate his usefulness and gain their loyalty.

She at least has the good sense not to voice any objection in the presence of the only two alicorns on the planet.

“That sounds fantastic!” she exclaims with slightly forced cheer. “Thank you, Cure Wave. What of my husband?”

The colt makes a show of lighting up his horn, scanning the duke for a few extra seconds before cutting the power off. “Just as you are, Duke Dandy is in good health for a stallion his age. There are, of course, a number of age-related issues for me to address, but there’s also a number of small problems I have that I would expect from anypony that’s been in a stressful job for a long time.”

Cure pauses and reaches over with his left wing to poke at the princess’s chest, adding, “At least, from anypony that’s not an alicorn, I suppose. You must be immune to ulcers, IBS, and a plethora of other things I’m certain anypony else with your job would develop within a few years.”

The mare frowns and inclines her head in thought for a moment before slowly nodding. “I suppose I had never considered that I may not experience the deleterious effects of my position. I admit there have been periods where restful sleep eluded me, but I cannot recall ever suffering any of the physical maladies that other rulers have experienced.”

“I would appreciate knowing to whom I shall address my complaint,” Dandy dryly remarks.

Cure waves the issue away with his right hoof, insisting, “That won’t be a problem for you in just a moment anyhow. You’ll both feel like a million bits when we’re done here today, promise.”

“Excellent! Thank you, young stallion!”

“You’re quite welcome. Now, you’re going to feel my magic running through you. It will hit some rather private areas, of course, but that’s just the nature of the beast, unfortunately. Just stay put and it’ll pass momentarily.” Both are lying ponyloaf, so even if… when, likely, Dandy pops wood, nopony will be able to see. The couch fortunately lacks any kind of nervous system, so he will at least not have to endure the feeling of an erection pressing against a part of him, even if his talent will unmercifully blast it into his brain either way.

“I… understand,” the duke sighs in a resigned tone.

“I have news for you when you are done,” Celestia interjects, dispelling the awkward silence .

“Oh? Go ahead, it’s not like you’ll distract me.”

The princess spares a moment to watch on as the duchess’s constitution visibly improves. Even without directly making cosmetic changes, the mare’s restored health is easily discernible. Cure normally does the cosmetic portion along with the deaging, but even without the former, the latter will gradually convey many of the same benefits as old, worn cells are rejuvenated.

“Very well. I received a missive from my nephew shortly before court adjourned.” He knows from the rabbit’s presence that she received dozens of messages throughout the morning, none of which he made any attempt to read, so it’s unsurprising that one of them was from Blueblood.

“Nothing bad, I assume?”

“No, not at all. I should be more clear, however. The message was from Blueblood the forty-sixth. He wishes to invite you to meet some of his friends tomorrow evening.”

“Golf? I remember he mentioned that last time.”

“No,” she denies, shaking her head. “At least not this time. The invitation is to the Ashwood Club. It is a recreational facility near their manor with tennis courts, a swimming pool, a restaurant, and a few other amenities.”

Dandy nods along, adding, “They recently added an interesting take on tennis. It’s an indoor version played with a bouncing rubber ball. Brim, our son, says it’s quite an energetic experience. Perhaps after today I shall take him up on a game.”

The colt bobs his head side to side weighing the invitation. “That sounds like fun, but I don’t want to ditch my mom the whole time we’re here.”

“If I may,” Elegant chimes in, “some lady friends of mine, along with many of our daughters, will be gathering for a wine tasting event at The Three Oaks Lounge that evening. I would be delighted if she could accompany us.” She nods to Celestia and offers, “It goes without saying that your majesty is always welcome to attend as well.”

“I do not -” the mare begins, cut off by the eager colt between her forelegs, “That would be perfect! That way my mom knows at least somepony there and it would be a good opportunity for you to make some friends!” Not giving her time to respond, he sits up and noses at her chin, adding, “Like you said, princess, you can never have too many. Are you busy Wednesday evening?”

“I… am not,” she reluctantly admits.

“Sweet! I’ll check with my ma ta be sure, but I bet she’d be down. I have a suggestion if yer interested,” he says, turning back to Duchess Dresser.

The mare looks nearly beside herself with joy and bobs her head eagerly.

“If the lounge has an outdoor area maybe you could arrange for everypony to step out for a moment at sundown. I can’t think of many ways to better greet the moon than with a well timed toast, after all.”

Author's Note

So I'm sure there's some questions about exactly what Cure is doing with these leaders. First off, he's making sure they are not changelings, obviously.

The idea of having everyone that enters the building scanned isn't something I initially planned, but it's very much in-character for Cure and has multiple benefits. He can watch for any major health issues, ensure that everyone that stops in is who they appear to be, and he can watch for anyone that stalwartly refuses to enter. He may not go against their wishes and scan them anyhow, but at least he'll be able to provide a list of potential infiltrators to the princess for further screening. He's also incentivizing them coming in by offering free food and drinks that are literally perfect; a lure that would almost certainly bring nearly every guard through the doors out of curiosity if nothing else.

Anyhow, as for the leaders, he is scanning them, fixing any major health issues, and doing a soft roll-back on their age. It's not the full cellular deaging treatment because you can't wholly separate that out from the cosmetic portion. After all, if your skin and hair are all deaged then you wouldn't have age spots or graying anymore. Think of it more like they are in the absolute best health someone at their age could possibly be, while specific parts of them - i.e. failing kidneys, a weakened heart, etc. - is fixed back up to perfect health. No more arthritis, no bad knees, failing eyesight, crap hearing, etc. While they will still age and degrade, they're certainly not going to suddenly kick the bucket anytime in the next few years, at least, which will give time for the folks in the lab to green light his aging treatment.

So yeah, he's doing the medically necessary stuff and a bit beyond that for these leaders to make sure that they're still kicking when the real treatment is finally approved. And no, it isn't a purely financial decision, even if that does play a part in it.

He is, after all, trying to disguise how much magic he has available even from the princess. He previously told her that he could deage a few ponies per hour, tops, so he doesn't want to clue her in that he's bypassed that limitation. Mainly because he's worried that she'll have an issue with him having a city-spanning underground plant capable of basically anything. Keep in mind that literally nobody - not even his parents - know about that. He only told them that he set up relays.

Moving on... the bit about the crop yields may raise a few eyebrows from you all, but just do a quick search about what an impact that has had over the millennia and you'll probably find that a 200% increase is likely on the low end. I would suggest that 2000% is probably more likely. If I'm reading this right we've seen almost a 1000% increase in corn yields per acre since 1866. Oh well, they've only had the seeds a couple months, so those numbers may change.

I figure I'll probably do 2 more chapters for this week, then only a couple for the competition at most. Maybe. We'll head back to Baltimare (hopefully) by this time next month and will probably move time forward a little faster from there.

As always, thanks for reading, rating, and, especially, commenting.

Enjoy!