A Blueberry and Her Greenery

[Gentian]

A Blueberry and Her Greenery



8 – Providence

There is a saying among wandering ponies: The Road will provide. Whether whispered, spoken, sung, or written, a tenderhoof never traveled far without learning it from the more experienced travelers. It's said as a statement of faith, when the skies darken, or stomach, and saddlebag hang empty. It's said as an expression of hope, and thanks, when the storms clear, or a patch of fresh green grass, or shiny golden bit gleams up from the dust. Also, at times it's said as a lament of irony, or in mocking bitterness at a bad situation made worse.

Trixie herself has said it at all these times, and in all these ways. A life of hard lessons, and new experiences on the road has taught her that whether most ponies realize it or not, the vagabond's aphorism is an acknowledgment of fate. No matter how one plans, or what precautions one takes, fate will have its way; The Road will provide, one thing or another. So, as she and Anon headed East, out of Hollow Shades, the words were once again on her lips, while a guarded optimism was nurtured in her heart.

The part of Equestria lying between Phillydelphia and Manehattan is a patchwork of tilled lands spread over gently rolling hills. It's one of the most agriculturally productive regions in all Equestria, with a bounty fed by the mineral-rich runoff of the mountains to its west, and northwest, and the mild weather and seasonal rains which blow – completely naturally, no less! - in from the sea. So great is it's productivity, that it fills the ships and trains of both great cities and, from there, plates, pantries, and storerooms all over Equus.

In her glory days, Trixie loved passing through this region, but since Ponyville, had avoided it. More accurately, she had avoided the 3 main coastal cities, and thusly had no reason to enter the area, preferring instead to head east from Hollow Shades, then turn north into the isolated smattering of farms and towns in the foothills of the Crystal Mountains. But not this year.

The Road will provide. Whispered in hope, almost a prayer, as she made her way to Phillydelphia for the first time since it happened, Anon in tow. As the days turned to weeks, and the road passed underhoof, she had to admit, The Road, was indeed providing. Word spread, and as they passed between farms and towns she noticed with delight their audiences grew.

By the time they left Phillydelphia, Anon was no longer seen as a potential predator, but an amazing curiosity, and when they drew close to Manehattan, hordes of galloping hooves, and flapping wings rushed out to meet them.

It was almost with relief they passed back in to the isolation of the Crystal Mountain's foothills, beyond the farms to Manehattan's West. Onward they went, giving show after show, though they were small and easily done compared to the venues in the big cities. Then, as they descended around the south-western edge of the foothills, heading for Neighagra, discovered their new found fame had beaten them there.

Profits have shot up like Celestia's sun, and not from the shows gross, alone. Afterward, many ponies want to talk with them. They are invited to pubs, restaurants, and cideries, patrons and proprietors alike eager to offer free meals, and more, for their autographs - “It can write!” - or Trixie's permission to take vignettes, hang banners, and tell everypony who comes by that their establishment is a favorite of the Great and Powerful, and her “pet.” Homes are opened to them, private parties thrown in their honor, and even her seamstress back in Hollow Shades is offering to make them new clothes gratis, if only she'll “Please, please please, tell everypony who made them!” Trixie's little chest of bits is overflowing. Literally.

And Anon. Anon, “My little human,” as she thinks of him. They share the wagon every night now, rain or not. His scent is in her home, his warmth in her bed, and she wouldn't have it any other way. They had gone to sleep facing the walls that first unforgettable night, but when she awoke – before he did – snuggled in his arms, muzzle under his chin, she knew a peace she never thought she would. A warmth and contentment that had only grown stronger. No longer does she consider those feelings silly; they're serious, and she wants more.

But what can I do? He's my employee, and not even a pony!

Hiding her feelings around other ponies is easy; she is The Great and Powerful Trixie, and does not hesitate to act like it. Around them. But Anon is different. She desires his affection, not just his respect.

What will I do when estrus comes? What will he do?

She thinks and wonders, wonders and thinks, until one day...

The glorious summer is upon them, and the majesty of Neighagra, behind. Here on the broad, Equestrian plains, trees are a rarity, scattered individually, or in small clusters where the lay of the land accumulates water during the spring rains, holding it below the surface in the form of damp ground throughout the dry summer.

It was near one of these trees Anon squatted, preparing lunch. They had arrived there the day before, shortly after crossing the river ferry, and Trixie had called a halt. Unbeknownst to Anon, they were behind schedule. Their detours to the great coastal cities had set them behind, but not as much as their celebrity, which required more shows, and more rubbing withers with the mundanes. It was a trade Trixie was pleased to make, but there are only so many days in the year, after all, and now that they were across the river, it was time for her to decide: north, to the Crystal Empire, or west to Vanhoover? There isn't time for both before winter arrives.

Normally, in a case like this she would flip a bit, and let fate decide. But now, with Anon in her care, she couldn't bear to be so nonchalant about such an important choice. So, while Anon cooked, his arrogant, demanding, wonderful boss, Trixie lay in the shade of the tree, clacking beads on her abacus, scratching in her notebook, and doing a very good job of hiding the true source of her indecision.

A shadow glides across the ground; a pegasus. Anon has seen many flying overhead in this area. “We're between Canterlot, and the Crystal Empire,” she'd explained, “so messengers and couriers are always flying back and forth.” Not only that, but someplace called Cloudsdale was one of the biggest Pegasus cities in Equestria, and supposedly to their south-west, but it's hard to tell if she's being serious when she also says it's made of clouds, and one of it's chief exports is liquid rainbows.

Exactly how much of that is truth, or exaggeration he doesn't know, but he's seen more pegai in this part of Equestria than any other kind of pony, and even so, this one stands out. He wears gold armor, his mane is cropped, and pushed through his helmet, redolent of a Roman soldier's comb on Earth, and as blue as his tail. He circles gracefully through the air and passes overhead again, much closer this time, then lands a few paces away.

He and Trixie notice each other at the same time. She rises to her hooves, and stands impassively. The pegasus turns to her and bows, ignoring Anon completely. “Are you Trixie Lulamoon? Magus of the Road, and Guardian of Anon?”

“I am,” she replies in an equally haughty voice. “What brings a royal guard to search out The Great and Powerful Trixie?”

In lieu of a response, he produces a scroll from his saddlebags, and, with another bow, lays it at her hooves. “Their Royal Highnesses, Princess Celestia, and Princess Luna, have heard of your magnificence! They wish to see your show, and meet the great magician, and her pet!

“You are hereby summoned to appear in the royal court, no later than the end of summer. You are invited to stay as a guest of Their Royal Highnesses in Canterlot Castle, and enjoy their hospitality. How do you answer?”

A moment passes. Her expression doesn't waver. She raises the scroll in her aura, inspecting the unbroken royal seal, then opens it and begins to read. Calmly, she re-rolls it, and regards the pegasus with an expression of whimsical consideration.

“You may tell Their Royal Highnesses that the Great and powerful Trixie, Magus of the Road, and Guardian of Anon accepts their invitation. She will make all due haste toward Canterlot.” The pegasus bows, and takes to the sky. Trixie watches him go, snout raised., as he fades to a distant speck on the southern horizon.

Suddenly, she prances excitedly on tippy-hooves, turning circles, and arching her back, her mane and tail whipping wildly about.

“Yes!Yes!Yes!Yes!Yes!”

___________________________________


When he'd first caught sight of Canterlot, it's lone, snowy peak glittered over the distant haze like a beacon. “That's where we're going, Anon,” she'd said, and he'd thought it fortuitous to have such a prominent landmark for their journey.

Soon after, he'd noticed the great thunderhead that never seemed to move: “Cloudsdale,” according to her, and was somewhat disappointed to learn it wasn't on their itinerary. The Great and Powerful Trixie could cast a spell to let them walk on clouds, she was quick to assure him, as though he might somehow think less of her if she could not, but saying “Even the most renowned unicorns in history found flight challenging!” and that she refused pay the steep rates for pegasus-transit; “They're practically criminal!”

Onward they marched, trundling southward, the mountain looming ever larger as he passed the miles beside his wagon. Yes, it belongs to Trixie, he would admit if asked, but the way their relationship had blossomed, he couldn't help but think of it as his, too. They worked together, traveled together, ate together, and shared the same bed every night. She's a real cuddlebug, too, always finding excuses to touch him while he worked, from the constant brushing of her body against his, to the nonchalant swishing of his legs with her tail.

He remembered reading that herd animals are prone to physical contact. More so than other social creatures, and from what he had seen of pony interactions, it was true. But this didn't feel casual: the way she stood close, and leaned against him whenever possible, or used his lap as a pillow for her naps. It felt intimate, and he loved every moment of it. Their journey south wasn't a long one, compared to the distance they had already gone, but it was slow; many pleasant hours were passed under trees watching his little pony dream her dreams.

As they drew closer, a true wonder of the place shew forth: a castle, jutting from the sheer western face in defiance of all prudence. “Canterlot! The jewel of Equestria,” so Trixie had said. Not as large as the cities Anon had already seen, she admitted, but was quick to add that what it lacked in size it more than made up for in sheer majesty.

Phillydelphia and Manehattan have the sea; the former as broad, sandy beaches and islands dotted with grassy dunes, the latter with a deep water port and broad, navigable rivers stretching far inland. They share a stretch of land between them renowned for it's fecundity, and both have thriving local cultures of fine art, and culinary excellence. But for all that, they are not Canterlot.

Canterlot, which rises over the confluence of the rolling verdant hills, deep forests, and broad plains of central Equestria. Canterlot, from which the dizzying, alabaster heights, and vibrant rainbows of Cloudsdale are always seen shining against the blue sky. Canterlot, where the immortal Alicorn Sisters, choose to make their home, and rule from the most breathtaking castle the world has ever known.

“The stories say it's like an iceberg,” gushes Trixie. “That most of it is inside the mountain, and the rooms and tunnels of the castle dig in like the roots of a tree, and that's how it can hang there.” On and on she went, her infatuation with the city on full display, bringing rumor after legend after story to her lips as the mountain itself grew ever nearer.

Finally, on this particular morning, as their destination soared in front of them, she'd put on her costume, chattering incessantly, excited and nervous, saying today is the day they'd arrive. They broke camp and walked happily, talking of the castle, and the magnificent city of wealth, and luxurious haute couture which it wore like a garland, but now they draw close.

With a gentle nuzzle of his arm – was it his imagination, or did she linger? - she slides in to her archetype like an old, familiar garment: tail and nose high, eyes, bright and imperious, pride oozing from beneath her wide brim. “We are nearly there, Anon.”

Just like that, he thinks.

“As we have come by royal invite, they will doubtlessly be on the lookout for us. In fact, Trixie would not be surprised if they already know we are here.” As if on cue, a squad of guard ponies in sparkling armor approach.

“Lady Trixie?

“Yes...” she began, eying the details of her uniform. “...Captain.

“Lady Trixie,” she replies with a bow. “By order of Their Royal Highnesses, we bid you welcome. Please allow us to escort you to the Castle.”

“The Great and Powerful Trixie accepts your welcome, Captain. You may lead on.” At a nod from their leader, 4 of the gilded soldiers took up positions in front of their charges, and 2 more behind the wagon, bringing up the rear. Another, with a deep genuflection took Trixie's place in the harness, buckling himself in, then signaling when he was secure.

We have a retinue! she giggled.

“At your convenience, Lady Trixie,” said the captain, ducking her head and gesturing with a hoof. Trixie looks at Anon, her smile as smug as any he's ever seen her wear, but this time she isn't smiling at him. Neither is she smiling with him; this time she's smiling for him, enjoying the moment, and with the glimmer in her eyes, inviting him to do the same.

His smile joins hers, and with pomp barely concealing glee, she marches forth, up the last bit of road, strutting over the drawbridge, and through the gate. Guard ponies bow as they pass, and with another glance at Anon, Trixie's smile grows. Joy buoys her heart, and the only word she finds adequate, is bliss, made even sweeter by his presence.

All the ponies watch as they pass by, no matter how fine their clothing, or numerous the servants waiting at their tails. Whether they gawk openly, or stand with squinted eyes and hastily adjusted hats, or hide behind splayed fans, and reseated monocles, they are watching.

Probably wondering who's so important as to get a royal escort, Trixie mused. As if there's anybody more deserving! Well...maybe one...she looks at Anon...as deserving, anyway.

And Anon? Anon is watching me! All the grandeur, all the wonder of Canterlot, and he's watching me! Of course, I deserve it, but he's actually watching me!

His smile rivals Celestia's own sun, but can't compare to the blaze in her heart.

Can this day get any better?

She closes her eyes to savor the feeling. An image comes to her mind: Anon, her hooves wrapped around him, a blue flower tucked behind his ear, leaning down, their lips getting closer, and closer...

Ponyfeathers! The hoi palloi can't see me like this!

She forces herself to look away, and notice the other ponies in the crowd, watching her, and watching him. And who is that? Fleur Dis Lee! Very clearly watching him, and not watching her. He's noticed too, and Trixie's mood suddenly darkens as he gives her a smile, and wave. The tall unicorn supermodel turns as they pass, gives him a wink, and prances off.

No! No, I shouldn't feel like this. He does that to all the ponies when we come to a town, smiling and flailing those “arms” of his like the silly thing he is. He doesn't mean anything by it. Oh Celestia, why do I feel like this?

Beneath her haughty mask, she already knows the answer: because Fleur has a reputation. She's a notorious stallionizer, known far and wide for using her beauty and wealth to revel in the life of the quintessential playmare, and now she's eying Anon!

Suddenly, genuine anger burns inside her, nearly enough to sear through her carefully crafted mien. Nearly; she is the Great and Powerful Trixie, and only the most astute or familiar of observers would recognize the note of rage tinging her usual supercilious disdain.

She's never told anyone, but she's a monogamist. It's her dirty little secret; she doesn't like to share.

Are humans monogamous? She doesn't know. Should I tell him? She looks at him again.

He must know, it isn't fair to keep it secret if I love him...Love? - Their eyes, meet, and he beams at her – love! I do. I do love him, beyond any shadow of a doubt.

He's not a pony, so maybe he won't be disgusted. He might not...reject...

No! No, no, no! Not again! It's been so long. Memories rise, and despair overwhelms her anger. As quick as thought, she, in turn, crushes it with deliberately stoked fury, focusing on it, and letting it focus her.

All the ponies “great,” and small make way for her, all the way to the castle.

They had damn well better!