A Canterlot Carol

by GhostOfHeraclitus

Rating: everyone
Tags: Comedy, Princess Celestia, Slice of Life, Original Character, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic
Length: 6325

Dotted Line discovers the true meaning of Hearthwarming, mostly by accident.

The business of government never stops, and paperwork never rests, even on Hearthwarming. But this particular Hearthwarming, Cabinet Secretary and tea enthusiast Dotted Line plans to do his level best to see it, at least, take a break. His ponies need to go home to their families, and he, well, he has plans this Hearthwarming.

Published 2012-12-28 01:30:01 UTC
Last updated 2012-12-28 01:30:01 UTC

Chapter 1

‘Twas the day before Hearthwarming, and a nameless horror had taken residence in Dotted’s chimney. Again. He was trying to ignore it and keep on working, but a blocked chimney meant no fire, and breaking the ice on his inkwell was getting very tiresome. The otherworldly gibbering wasn’t helping any, either. Dotted sighed.

“Professor, is there any chance of getting that thing out of here before I freeze?”

Professor Ivory Abacus lifted her gaze from a thick book unaccountably decorated with tiny silver bells, and frowned.

“This is delicate work, Dotted. We are dealing with a class three manifestation drawn by the dimensional instability of the Royal Palace. Very tenacious. Very dangerous.”

Dotted looked unimpressed. He got out of his chair, joints protesting, and walked around his desk, slipping slightly on the foothills of some of the lesser paperwork mountains.

“Don’t give me that. It’s the same every year. Come Hearthwarming, like clockwork, this thing sets up shop in my chimney. It gibbers for a while, does that bloody annoying laugh, and then disappears, taking with it all stockings within one hundred and thirty-seven feet. I don’t dare imagine why. I need it out, so I can finish up my work.”

“Ah, but this year is different! We have finally tracked down the last surviving copy of De Rangiferis Mysteriis,”Ivory said, shaking the book in question. It gave a sad little jingle that, against all odds, managed to sound sinister.

“And that helps us how?”

“Well, we can finally find out just what this thing is and how to banish it permanently. Now if I’m reading this right, uh, there’s an ancient poem here giving instructions on how to act…um…you are supposed to watch out for him, and you are enjoined not to cry out. So good hearing. We can use that. Apparently, he can see you when you are asleep. Possibly a dreamwalker. We could enlist princess Luna to give us aid in that respect. And apparently he knows your sins. Very troubling.”

“I don’t want his encomium, Professor, I just want him gone.”

“This is useful information! There’s a description. He’s said to be a fearsome beast. Crimson and bone-white…and something about, uh, sandy claws? Maybe he’s aquatic or littoral! And it is said that he has an eldritch laugh like unto—”

“HO HO HO”

“Yes. I’ve heard it,” said Dotted with considerable annoyance. He walked around Ivory Abacus and towards his fireplace.

“Dotted, I don’t think you ought to—”

But Dotted had already stuck his head up the chimney with considerably more enthusiasm than sense.

“Hello there, Sandy if that’s your name. Do you mind pushing off and finding some other chimney to haunt? Just this once? It’s just that I’ve plans for Hearthwarming and—”

There was an explosion of sound, a deep rumbling more felt through the hooves than heard, and a flash of light. Then darkness.

* * *

‘Twas the day before Hearthwarming, and a nameless horror had taken residence in Spinning Top’s chimney. To make matters worse, it was her boss.

“Dotted! How did you get up there?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

Spinning Top considered this, briefly and shrugged.

“Oh. Alright. I’ll just get back to work, then, shall I?”

She chose to interpret the silence from the chimney as a ‘yes,’ and sat back in front of the desk, continuing to write industriously. Occasionally she paused to think of the right word to use, pressing the quill into her muzzle absentmindedly in the way that used to make mother absolutely livid. It was during one of these moments while she was trying to think of a pleasant way to say “reprehensible idiot” and idly looking through the window at the playful flurries of snow, that a voice came again from her chimney.

“So, uh, what are you doing?”

“Oh, I’m trying to run damage control on this Blueblood business. You?”

“Hanging upside down in a chimney. What Blueblood business?”

“He insulted the ambassador of the United Cities and Heartland of Zebrica. Something about grass huts. Or possibly skirts. He may have quite ruined the trade agreement. Do you want help with the, you know, whole chimney situation?”

“Damn. I wish the Princesses would let us just gag him when he’s in public. And no, I’m fine. Professor Abacus dispatched a handy chimney sweep to help. Any moment now—watch it with that brush you’ll make me—”

There was a yelp, a curious sliding sound, and Dotted fell into the, mercifully, cold fireplace in a cloud of soot and cinders. Apparently, he had decided that the best way to preserve what little dignity he had left was to pretend that nothing untoward had happened at all. It was, Spinning decided, a singularly poor decision. He got up to his hooves, tried to brush off his coat, realized that he was trying to do so with a hoof that was as covered with soot as the rest of him and gave up, walking instead out of the fireplace as if it was entirely normal for him to drop by on the press secretary in this manner.

“Right. Ahem. So what is your plan?”

“Draft official apology and file it with the embassy. Draft a ‘spontaneous and unrehearsed’ apology for Blueblood, and get him to rehearse it. Cart him over to Mkali and get him to say it with a minimum of errors. Hope that smooths things over. Try to fight the press off, which is going to be a nuisance and a half. They are always starved for material come Hearthwarming and would love to pick up a delicious slice of recreational outrage like this. Half of them will go for the ‘HRH BLUEBLOOD INSULT SHOCK,’ and half of them for ‘EQUESTRIA TO GROVEL BEFORE ZEBRAS,’ which is always a popular choice.”

Dotted made a face.

“Weren’t you supposed to visit family for Hearthwarming?”

“So I was. I was just dropping by the office this morning to sign some papers when I heard tell of Blueblood’s latest faux pas. I’ll have to send word that I won’t be coming, it seems. This needs handling right now.”

“I’ll do it.”

“Pardon? You cannot be serious,” said Spinny, her eyebrows shooting up.

“I am. I’ve sent everyone I possibly can away already, anyone with any family at all. Go. Spend Hearthwarming with your family. I’ll take care of the whole mess.”

“Dotted, I—”

“Go. It’s Hearthwarming, for Celestia’s sake. I’ll go and talk to Mkali myself.”

Whatever Spinning wanted to say died in her throat. Her eyes grew wide and she unconsciously leaned back in her chair. Obscurely embarrassed for giving an emotion away, she tried to cover it up by slipping on a sharp little half-smile[1] and leaning right back forward, her forehooves on the desk.

[1] Smile #38a — mocking, yet affectionate, disbelief.

“You? You are going to go hat in hoof to Mkali?”

“Yes.”

“La belle zèbre sans merci?”

“Indeed. She may or may not owe me some favors.”

“What sorts of favors?”

“I can’t tell you that without violating section two of the Official Secrets Act.”

“I hardly know what to say—”

“Goodbye.”

“Excuse me?”

“That’s what you ought to say. ‘Goodbye.’ As you are leaving.”

“But I have to finish—”

“I’ll do it.”

“But—”

“No buts. Go. Be with family.”

“What about you?”

“Don’t you worry about me. I’ve plans for this Hearthwarming. Now go. And I swear, if I see that you are still here when I come back from the embassy wing, I’ll bloody well find a palace guard that hasn’t been sent home yet and get him to chuck you out.”

With these words, Dotted strode out of the office trailing little wisps of soot behind him.

* * *

The usual place for embassies and the like was in the more fashionable district of the host city, but Canterlot was different. No matter how much ponies chose to pretend otherwise, Canterlot was first a fortress and only later a city, and so the embassies were in a separate wing of the palace. Dotted, brushed clean and fortified with a meticulously prepared cup of tea, trotted down Embassy Court and its cobbled paths, treacherous and slippery under a thick blanket of snow, and reflected how here it was impossible to keep pretending. The walls of the palace came in close around the Court, massive hulking shapes, sloped low, almost seeming to crouch in readiness. The fact that they were clad in brilliant white marble, and decorated with cheery bas-reliefs and sculptures, seemed almost farcical. Dotted slowed his steps as he approached the embassy of the United Cities and Heartland of Zebrica and looked around. With the walls pressed in so tight, no place, save perhaps the academy, was as well defended. Here was a message, Dotted thought, that these guests were given into our care, and that come fire and come fury, they will be kept safe. He hoped Mkali would see it like that. He could certainly use some goodwill.

The stern guards, one from the Guard and one from the embassy’s own modest staff, scrutinized him, his identification papers, his chain of office, and his saddlebags, presumably in case he was a devious assassin wearing a remarkably convincing ‘aging bureaucrat’ costume. Finding nothing on his person that could cause more injury than a papercut, they let him through. Dotted let the obsequious footzebra guide him to the threshold of the embassy’s reception room, and after a brief pause he entered with the level of caution and trepidation usually reserved for entering the lairs of particularly ill-tempered dragons. As he went through the door, his eyes scanned the room automatically and he felt his breath catch, just a little bit. It always did, no matter how many times he saw the room.

The room itself was plain, almost pointedly so, though in deference to its august purpose, the wooden beams that held the ceiling were carefully polished. But the contents of the room were anything but plain. A couple of Equestrian statues from the Classical period flanked an exquisite Qilin painting on silk—Tea Pickers at Hu Gong Temple, if Dotted was any judge[2]—which hung just above a delicate bit of Griffon scrimshaw. In a corner, almost as if forgotten, a camel-made statue of The Counting Goddess in beaten silver and lapis lazuli. And so on, and so forth, with treasures from across the world. It did not escape Dotted that the rug that he was already fetlock deep in was from Saddle Arabia, and could, if sold, provide enough bits to retire comfortably, possibly on an island you owned. And here, too, was a message. “Behold wealth,” it said, “and power, too, for think how far all of these things had to travel to get here.” All this splendor and beauty almost obscured the most important thing in the room—the true representative of Zebrica who was sitting in an armchair and was giving Dotted, who had gotten quite lost in thought, a Look.

[2] Dotted didn’t know much about art, but he knew what he liked. And that was, by and large, tea. Also paperwork and chemistry, of course, but that was rarely the subject of Qilin paintings, which was a bit of a mystery because according to all accounts they were exceptionally good at both.

Dotted resisted cringing. The last time he gave anything that sort of look, half exasperation and half analysis, was way back in his chemist years. He didn’t have a mirror handy at the time, but he suspected that that Mkali’s expression right now closely mirrored his while he was observing a solution of lithium-borohydride in hydrazine that was stubbornly evolving hydrogen. He ended his frustration with that particular blind alley by blowing it up[3]. Not wanting to see just how explosive Mkali’s solution to a similar problem would be, he gave a carefully measured half-bow and spoke.

[3] Which was an entirely reasonable way, as he explained to Goldie while she was bandaging him up, of disposing of a substance that could poison you, set you on fire or explode you in any of three fascinating ways. Just dumping it down the sink wouldn’t do.

“Ah, Your Excellency, I was just admiring—”

“Yes. You always do. Please, Mr. Secretary. Sit,” Mkali indicated a comfy looking chair, just on the other side of a low table inlaid with silver. It was of Griffonstan make and worth, Dotted estimated, about half his yearly salary. Walking very carefully so as to be certain of not breaking something that would, undoubtedly, turn out to be impossible to replace, Dotted approached and sank gratefully into the cushions.

“I would love to be here on a more pleasant errand, Your Excellency, but it’s about the, uh, Blueblood business.”

“Yes?”

“Well, I am aware that what he said was very, ah, regrettable, and poorly thought out, but I think you’ll find—”

“Is this the official apology? Generally they are couriered over, I find. And put together better, too.”

Dotted blinked, and was thankful that his thick coat hid the flush of embarrassment. He gave up on canned diplomacy and tried another tack.

“Well, generally Dr. Spinning Top writes them. But I’ve sent her home today. Hearthwarming, you see. So I’m afraid that today you get me.”

“I do? Well, then, Mr. Secretary, go on. I warn you, Dr. Top has set a rather high bar for you to clear.”

Dotted blinked once more and, again, had that curious sense of being regarded like flask of bubbling solution that was interesting, but not quite acting the way it should. Well, then, if Mkali wanted to experiment with hypergols, she’ll have to deal with the occasional explosion.

“I’m afraid I won’t be attempting that particular hurdle, Your Excellency. What His Highness said was idiocy, and I can deliver an apology to you and, if you insist, I can have His Highness dragged here to deliver it himself, but I’m afraid you’d be able to spot the strings quite easily, as me or Spinny puppets him through the motions. The truth, Your Excellency, is that Prince Blueblood is not sorry. Not even a bit. And he cannot be made to be sorry. To the best of my knowledge he has never offered a sincere apology to anyone in his entire life. I am sorry, on the other hoof, sorry that you were given offense and that His Highness embarrassed my government and my people, especially on a day when we ought to be dedicated to our better natures. I am sorry, but I can’t quite apologize for a slight I did not make. So I can only ask, in the spirit of Hearthwarming, in the spirit of good will, that you let this instance slide. I can offer no better.”

Dotted paused, took a few deep breaths, and recalled, as the bridges behind him burned merrily, that he generally avoided negotiations like this. For good reason. Still, there was nothing for it. He waited to see what Mkali would do, fully prepared to be cast headlong from the embassy and to have to explain to the assembled government and his own civil service why the trade agreement fell through. Absentmindedly he tugged at his chain of office, and got it to sit a little bit more straight. He was quite surprised as Mkali spoke, her tone unusually mild.

“Hearthwarming. Hm. A very unusual holiday, I always thought.”

“Excuse me?” Dotted asked. This was not how he expected things to go.

“Hearthwarming,” said Mkali, picking up a glass from the table, taking a sip, and gesturing with it as she continued to speak, “is an anomaly. Oh, a lot of cultures have a holiday at just about this time of year, some sort of festivity to call back the sun from the brink of solstice. What puzzles me is why would ponies celebrate such a thing—and with such enthusiasm!—when they of all peoples should know that the sun will never abandon them.”

It was only by a supreme act of will that Dotted kept his mouth closed. Not how he expected things to go at all. He was so surprised by the unusual direction the conversation had taken, that he was half-startled to hear himself reply.

“It’s not really about the solstice.”

“Oh?”

“The historical event that it commemorates did happen in the dead of winter. During a distant period the three tribes—”

“Yes, I am aware of what it commemorates. I read about it and, of course, I watched a rather excellent play a few years back.”

“Right. Well. It’s not about the cold or deprivation. We’re hardly hungry at this time of year, far from it, and the holiday isn’t called hearth warming for nothing. It’s not about the night, either. We cherish it as much as the daytime. What Hearthwarming is, Your Excellency, is a reminder.”

“A reminder? To be good? Good will to all, and all that?”

“Such is the cliché, but that’s not what I meant. I’ve only ever met two ponies who could be said to truly bear good will to all, and the Royal Sisters are divine. Indeed, it could be said that this capacity for universal goodwill is what makes them divine, more so than the fact that they bring forth night and day. But we, Your Excellency, are small, and our capacity for good will is commensurate.”

Mkali leaned back in her chair, and took another sip from her glass. Then she put it back onto the table, and spoke again, her eyebrow quirking upward.

“Does that not strike you as cynical, Mr. Secretary?”

“Not really, no. Rather the opposite, in fact. If we could feel for everypony—excuse me—everyone everywhere, our hearts would burst. It is no more reasonable to expect a pony to be able to bear universal good will, than to expect them to be able to move the sun.”

“Than what does Hearthwarming remind us of?”

Dotted looked thoughtful for a moment, and the tension in his shoulders appeared to melt away. When he spoke, his voice owed a lot more than usual to the island of his origin, his prim and perfect Canterlot accent slipping slightly.

“Of family. And of friends. We are enjoined to love our families and our friends more fiercely during Hearthwarming—not because the time itself is important, but to remind us to truly appreciate that they are there. To not take them for granted. To remember, Your Excellency, the sheer miracle of not being alone. It’s like gift giving, which is an Equestrian custom at this time. The cliché is that it is better to give than to receive, but that’s not really true. Better to say that the point is to give. An old school friend of mine, from Griffonstan, was talking about this remarkable custom and described gift-giving as ‘a thoughtful infliction of joy.’ Perhaps not the most felicitous turn of phrase, she was still coming to grips with Equestrian, but it stuck with me. I guess you could say it is about being thoughtful. A reminder to not only love, but to be mindful of that love, and to be grateful for having somepony to share it with.”

Mkali smiled which, for a moment, made her look like someone’s grandmother. Someone with an expensive education, yes, and possibly a princedom, but a grandmother all the same. Dotted’s imagination, at full extension, could just about imagine her in conjunction with an apple pie, though she’d probably insist on discussing the symbolism of this particular form of dessert. She leaned forward and spoke, still keeping a smile.

“Put like that it sounds quite cheering. Thank you Mr. Secretary, that does bear thinking about. Oh, but forgive an old hippologist for indulging her interests. Now, the, what did you call it, Blueblood stiuation,” she said, sighing. She seemed lost in thought for a second, looking for the right word, and then spoke again.

“You know that my people consider words to be of great importance, yes? We set great store in things said?”

“Of course. It’s why the Sent only speak—”

“Quite. Quite. But in thinking like this, you perhaps lose sight of another aspect of this worldview—to be of worth, to a zebra, is to speak things worth hearing and worth remembering. It so follows that the words of someone without worth are of little significance, indeed.”

“I’m not sure I follow you.”

“It’s simple, Mr. Secretary. The word of someone like your Prince Blueblood is worth, oh, so very little. He cannot insult me, nor can he flatter me, nor, for that matter, can he influence what I think about the trade agreement your government is offering. I might as well be insulted by the growl of a dog or the whistle of wind.”

Dotted was taken aback, so taken aback that all he could manage was a quiet little, “Oh.”

“So you see, Mr. Secretary, I did not need to be apologized to.”

“I see. I’m sorry I took up your time, then,” Dotted said as he stood up to leave. Halfway out of his chair, his motion was arrested by an upraised hoof. Mkali motioned him to sit, and said in an agreeable tone.

“It’s quite alright. I enjoyed our little talk, and your visit allows me to ask a very important question. The word of Blueblood may be worthless, but I think that the word of Dotted Line is another thing entirely. So, Mr. Secretary, this agreement. Equestrian grain and finished goods for our paper. Is it a deal worth making, do you think?”

“My government claims—”

“Now, now, Mr. Secretary. The word of Equestria’s government, well,” Mkali said, rocking a hoof back and forth, “not particularly solid. The word of a princess, now, that’s as good as gold and just as rare. But I’m not asking either, Mr. Secretary, I’m asking Dotted Line. Is the deal fair?”

Dotted thought about the situation and decided to go for broke. If the truth had worked once, perhaps it could work again. Spinny would never approve, and would chide him for squandering so precious a resource as the truth, but she wasn’t here, now was she?

“Yes. I believe it is fair. For all its wealth, Zebrica can’t support proper crops. Cheap Equestrian grain will be a boon, and help pour more of the bits now used for food into, say, fresh trade or infrastructure. And Equestria needs the paper quite badly. Our demand easily outstrips our own production, and we dare not cut down old growth forest just to turn it into,” Dotted said, waving his hoof dismissively, “forms and newspapers. Trees take a lot of time to grow back. Papyrus doesn’t have that problem. And we’ve silo upon silo of grain just moldering away. Much better to send it where it will be of use. I’ve seen the reports and I suspect the deal will favor us initially, but will provide the greatest benefit to Zebrica in the long run.”

“And this is the truth, then?”

“No. I don’t know the truth. But I’ve not deceived you, and I’ve hidden nothing.”

Mkali's smile grew even broader. Dotted wasn’t sure what sort of bubbling flask he was now, but he suspected, based on Mkali’s look, that it was the sort of flask whose contents could be turned into a dissertation, a couple of papers, and a grant, with enough left over to cause a seriously satisfying explosion.

“Then it is done. I’ll send my recommendation to my government tomorrow.”

“Just like that?”

“I chose to trust you. Apparently, that’s appropriate, given the season. And speaking of that, I mustn’t keep you any longer. There are celebrations you need to get to, no doubt.”

“Indeed, Your Excellency. I’ve plans for Hearthwarming.”

* * *

Dotted made his way to his office quickly, mind racing. There was a lot to do, sure enough, but at least everypony was heading home for Hearthwarming. He made a mental note to send word to Spinny that the Blueblood fiasco was well in hoof. No sense in her worrying over the holidays. He raced down the plush corridors of the cabinet office, quite strange and alien now that they weren’t bustling with activity, and heaved open the door marked “D.H. Line—Cabinet Secretary.” Once inside he sidestepped a stack of 0451/DX forms that needed countersigning, jumped over a pile of 1138/T reports that he was reasonably sure were in his office by mistake, and nearly fell when he saw a familiar shape reclining in his chair.

“Leafy! What the hay are you doing here?”

Leafy unfolded from the armchair and gave Dotted a brittle smile.

“Dotty! I was waiting for you, actually, and was just getting—”

“Waiting for me nothing! Aren’t you supposed to be in Fillydelphia? Oh, Celestia, is everything okay? Did something—”

Seeing the panicked look in Dotted’s eyes, Leafy made a placating gesture with his left hoof.

“No, no, everything is fine. I’m flying to Fillydelphia in a little while, I just wanted to, uh—”

Hearing that everything was fine, Dotted deflated, and leaned back onto a suitable pile of paperwork. Leafy got up from the chair and motioned to it with his hoof, but Dotted waved it away. Instead he spoke.

“Why are you here then? It took me long enough as it is to get everypony to leave. Damn near had to pry Spinny out with a crowbar. Don’t tell me I’ll have to go see if there are any guardsponies still on duty to get them to toss you out?”

Leafy smiled, but it was clear that his heart wasn’t in it. He fluffed his wings a few times, looking anywhere but at Dotted. Finally, and with considerable reluctance he spoke.

“Look. Dotted. About Fillydelphia. I’ve been thinking. We could probably get you invited somehow. I know they said family only, but when you think about it a godfather is really—”

Dotted raised a hoof and shook his head.

“Leafy, no. No. Even I know better than to go where I’m not wanted. Inky’s family, bless ‘em, never liked me, and would like me even less if I were to drop in—at Hearthwarming of all times!—uninvited.”

“But—”

“Relax. I’ll be fine. But it’s good that you dropped by, actually, because now I can give you this.”

With those words, Dotted trotted over to a cabinet, dislodged a draft proposal for a flat tax scheme he intended to burn, and fetched a stack of parcels. Picking them up in the dim glow of his telekinetic grip, he carried them over to the desk and set them down with a considerable amount of satisfaction. Seeing Leafy’s bemused look, he explained himself.

“Presents. I won’t be there to give them myself. I would have given them to you earlier but this one,” he said indicating a very slim parcel marked ‘Rose’ in Dotted’s neat hoofwriting, “was a bit of a challenge.”

Smiling, Leafy picked up the parcel, weighed it, and raising it to his ear gave it an experimental shake.

“Very light. I can’t imagine what it could be…unless,” Leafy’s eyes went wide, “unless…the tickets? Celestia! You got the tickets? How? There’s not even standing room left!”

Dotted sniffed, a smile that, under any other sort of circumstances would seem insufferably smug, playing on his lips.

“Standing room, indeed! These are box seats, I’ll have you know. Nothing but the best for my goddaughter, d’you hear?”

“Box seats? Box seats? How in Tartarus did you manage to get box seats?”

Dotted leaned back onto his makeshift paper chair, and grinned.

“Well! You know how I’m technically the civilian head of all the intelligence agencies?”

“Oh…Oh! Suddenly, I’m not sure I want to hear the rest of this story.”

“Probably for the best, really.”

“Rose will be ecstatic, you do know that?”

“That was the notion, yes.”

“My present should find you somewhere tomorrow. Should have been here early but you know how it is with delivery. Oh, and Rose got you something, but she’ll want to give it to you in person.”

“Oh? She didn’t have to. What is it?” Dotted asked slyly.

“I think she thinks she did. And I’m not telling. I’d never hear the end of it if I ruined the surprise. But I can tell you that it is even lighter than your present, and may be even harder to find,” Leafy said smiling, and then seemed to remember something and a shadow seemed to pass over his features and he looked uncomfortable again. Reluctantly he spoke again.

“Dotty, are you sure? The kids will miss you, you know, and—”

“Yes, I am sure. I’ll be fine. And Rose, Dandelion, and Marigold can pester uncle Dotty to their heart’s content once they come back. Now go. It’s a long flight to Fillydelphia. Make sure to wrap up warm. It’s cold up there. And bring a warm drink.”

Despite himself, Leafy had to roll his eyes.

“Yes, Mother,” he said, “I’ll look both ways when I’m crossing the street, too. Are you absol—”

“Yes. I am. Now go. I’ll keep. Don’t you worry. I’ve plans for Hearthwarming.”

* * *

Night had fallen. The weatherponies, as their last job before leaving for home themselves, cleared up the skies, driving away clouds thick with snow, and so the sky was crystal clear and thousands of stars burned bright in the night. Luna’s best work for the year, without a doubt. The only thing that occluded the magnificence of the stars was the occasional burst of fireworks, gleaming in red, orange, and green, and then settling back to the ground in a shower of dancing sparks. Dotted saw none of that, however.

He sat quietly at his desk, his office cold and lit only by a small desk lamp, the fireflies in it sleepy and sluggish. Occasionally it flickered, sending shadows dancing on the walls. Methodically, he picked up the next form from the stack on the floor, scanned it, scribbled his name in a corner, and placed it on a separate pile which had in the past few hours grown to worrying proportions. His desk faced a rather handsome picture window, but somehow he managed to not look through it at the gleam of the stars or the inviting warm glow of windows all over town. He especially didn’t look up at the glare of the fireworks. He liked them altogether too much.

The room was quiet, the only sounds the scratching of the quill over paper, the creak and pop of the building as it adjusted to being empty, cold, and dark, and the tick-tock of the desk clock, as it sliced the all-too-long night into manageable bits. Dotted sighed, shifted his position, winced at an unexpected stab of pain from his back, and picked up another form. A particularly magnificent firework burst over downtown Canterlot, bathing everything in crimson light. Dotted averted his eyes, focusing on the form. He read the incident summary. Checked that the appropriate boxes were filled in. Made a complex scribble in the lower-right corner that looked like a seriously tangled piece of string or, if one squinted just so, the words “D.H. Line.” He put the form onto the pile. There was another burst of fireworks, even more brilliant than the last, strong enough to cause sharp shadows to be cast all over the very nearly deserted office. This time Dotted covered his eyes with his hoof. When he lifted it, it was unaccountably damp. He sighed again, and levitated a piece of paper he had put just under the edge of his blotter. It was a neat list of various jobs with, it must be said, a great many checkmarks, but even more empty boxes. And the last item was a real doozy. “Finalize draft proposal for Zebrica treaty & check for legality,” it said. Normally a job for twenty ponies. Tonight, he was doing it, and not a few others. His fault, really. He had sent everypony home. Well, almost everypony.

Dotted growled in frustration at those empty boxes and looked at the clock and frowned. It really wasn’t that late, but he was bone tired. He looked at the mess of paperwork that surrounded him and sighed. It’ll keep until tomorrow. The thought of home did not cheer him, not in the slightest, but he needed sleep and, if at all possible, he needed to sleep in his own bed. His back couldn’t take many more catnaps in unlikely places. Moving like a clockwork automaton with half its gearing stripped, he dried his quill, put it away in the little holder that was, inexplicably, shaped like a small chintzy sofa, capped the inkwell, sorted the paperwork, and got up, ever so carefully. He could swear he could hear every single joint creaking. Then, he slipped quietly out of the office, unable to escape the feeling that he was sneaking away like a thief.

He had intended to make way straight to the gate, and then home, a tiny little house at the outskirts of Canterlot, but he had been lost in thought, or rather a swarm of half-thoughts he never quite dared complete, and his hooves, operating on automatic, took him wandering through the familiar corridors of the palace. Most of it was cold and empty, just like his office, the ponies that normally filled the place with life elsewhere, quite likely behind those cheerily glowing windows that Dotted avoided looking at, as if they were accusing eyes. At one point he looked around, and realized he had wandered all the way to the part of the palace quite opposite his usual haunts, and was at the end of the hall of Easterly Radiance, just at the base of the Tower of Dawn. And since he was there, he saw no reason not to climb up. Having climbed up, he saw no reason not to round the corner where a rather important door was.

Normally the door the the study of the Solar Princess was guarded, but it was Hearthwarming, and the princess had sent the guards away. What did surprise Dotted was that the door was open, and that light was spilling into the empty corridor. He knew the Princess’ schedule to the last moment and he knew that she ought to be well asleep this late, having gratefully given over the duty of presiding over the festivities in the Palace itself to her sister. This left him in a bit of a quandary. That was the Princess’ private study, and what she got up to in there was her own affair. On the other hoof, he was one of a very very small number of ponies who could just walk through those doors whenever he wished, and the only member of that exclusive group whose name didn’t include the title ‘Princess’ or start with a ‘T’ and end with ‘wilight Sparkle.’ And, to be honest, he was quite curious and not a little worried.

He walked down the corridor, making a bit more noise than he usually would, in lieu of knocking, and peered cautiously inside. At her writing desk was Celestia, muzzle pressed against the polished cedar surface, surrounded with papers, and snoring very very gently. Somehow, against all reason, she managed to look dignified and regal doing this. Drooling just a little bit, yes, but doing so in the most majestic way possible. Dotted’s face grew very pained. Whatever it was she was up to, it was his job. She ought to be resting. Moving with stealth that belied his bulky frame, he crept closer and peered at the top page. In Celestia’s calligraphic script it was titled “Zebrica Treaty—Draft Proposal & Legality Report.” Dotted spent a long time looking at that page, and looking at it he was reminded. He smiled, and felt the smile, like a surge of warmth unaccountably spreading across his muzzle. Moving with great care, he picked up the papers and notes, packed them carefully into his saddlebags, and turned to leave. Then he stopped, spied a cashmere blanket on a sofa across the room, picked it up, and, with the sort of delicacy he used to employ when dealing with seriously explosive reagents back in the day, draped it over his princess. He didn’t know if gods grew cold, but he’d take no chances. Not with her.

Dotted made his way back to his office much faster this time. Instead of wandering, he walked in his usual manner, quickly, picking the most direct routes. He even braved the inner courtyard, despite the icy weather, in order to save a lengthy and circuitous trip through the southern wing. He rushed into his office, stamping to dislodge the little bits of snow that clung stubbornly to his thick coat. He surveyed the room, dark, cold, and uninviting, and clicked his tongue disapprovingly. With a few taps he awoke the fireflies in the globes set along the walls, and with a flare from his horn, he made the fireplace burst into cheery flame. He warmed his hooves at the fire for a few moments, making a mental note to send something nice to the good Professor, and once sufficiently warm, trotted over to the window where, tunelessly, he made himself a cup of tea. Occasionally there’d be a flare of fireworks from outside, and he’d lift his eyes from his very important work, to look and grin like a foal. As his thesis adviser could mournfully attest, Dotted did like things exploding. Once the tea was safely in a steaming cup, he carried it over to his table, flung himself into the chair which creaked, just like it always did, and he uncapped the inkwell with a decisive snap and set to work, humming tunelessly. He had plans this Hearthwarming.