//------------------------------// // A life sentence // Story: House of the Rising Sunflower // by kudzuhaiku //------------------------------// Something profound had changed for Sundance, though he could not say how or why. The very idea that he might know his purpose filled him with equal measures of hope and dread. Hope for all of the obvious reasons, and dread for reasons unknown. A part of him wanted to know, but he was also terrified to find out. Would the great mystery be spoiled by knowing? There was something to be said for clarity of purpose; cutie marks were too nebulous and sometimes lacked a clear, easy to understand meaning.  Perhaps knowing might make him a better caretaker, a more capable guardian, a baron well-suited for the immense undertaking that was his job. He’d rather failed at his job this morning, though the failure had been a long time coming. For too long, the issues with Hollyhock had festered, and he knew why. His submissive nature avoided confrontation. She’d said some things—things she might even be right about—and he’d said some things that he hoped he was wrong about.  Moondancer certainly didn’t seem afraid of confrontation, or causing him to be uncomfortable. In a way, he admired her and her work ethic. It wasn’t that she was aggressive, or even mean-spirited, she just did her job with a cold, detached pragmatism that he wished he had just a smidgeon of for himself. Oh, not too much. His job demanded that he deal well with ponies and other creatures. But Hollyhock had a point, a horrible, awful, cringe-inducing point: he was a bumbling idiot that just allowed things to happen. He was the yes-pony, and this was a selling point, a desirable feature. Twilight Velvet had expected a yes-pony because Princess Celestia had described him as such.  Moondancer didn’t strike him as a yes-pony, and he rather liked her because of that.  “I am Sunburst,” the unicorn in the mirror said. “I am the brilliant flash of inspiration that illuminates the unknown. Dim, my friend, calls me the Sage of Ages. It has taken me a long, long time to feel worthy of my position and the command that I have. Everypony, even Princess Celestia herself, tells me that I am powerful, yet I have so little in the way of magic skill. All of this is relevant to what I am about to say.  “It is of the utmost importance that you trust me and my divinations. This… this is what I do well. I am a light that shines upon dark unknowns. For whatever reason, I can read the pictograms that are cutie marks. Fate has blessed me with the ability to discern their meaning, their reason, and even some of their hidden nuances. This might be hard for you to accept, and I understand. You have no reason to fear, I will not be offended if you disagree with my prognostications. Not everypony agrees with what I have to say. Keep in mind, I have yet to be proven wrong.”  “He’s brilliant and very good at what he does. The Sage Supreme—”  “Starlight, please, this is hard for me to assert myself.”  “Sorry, Honeyboops.”  Moondancer shook her head, snorted, and rolled her eyes all at once. Then, she salvaged the situation with a commanding interjection: “Sunburst is the absolute best at what he does, and might very well be one of the most powerful unicorns in all of Equestria. He’s not trying to con you, and he does not benefit from what he tells you. It’s fine to be doubtful, that’s expected, but for you to dismiss what he has to say would be foolishness of the worst kind.”  For fear of saying something the wrong way, Sundance nodded, and did his best to look attentive. How did one appear to have an open mind? Was there an expression for that? If so, he wasn’t sure that he’d encountered it. Sunburst was brilliant, but had trouble tooting his own horn. Perfectly understandable. Sundance wasn’t brilliant—not by a longshot—but he could accept that others thought him wise.  “Honeyboops?” On the other side of the mirror, Sunburst now seemed distracted.  “Shmoopy-Wookums?”  “Revolting,” Moondancer deadpanned with a contemptuous eyeroll that was of legend.  “I can’t help it. Something about the Crystal Empire… it does something to my brain.”  With an audible clearing of his throat, Sunburst returned to the discussion. “It shouldn’t even be a surprise, really. As one of Princess Celestia’s descendents, this should have been expected, even though it is a rare purpose to have. Now, mind you, this is your purpose… not your magic talent. We’ll discuss that in a moment. But for now, we’ll focus on this. Are you ready to know your purpose, Sundance? The reason why you exist?”  When under intense pressure, such as right now, Sundance’s mind did what it did best: it went blank. An eerie calm settled over him; whatever fear and insecurity he experienced faded away. All of his doubts, his reservations, they were fleeting thoughts that had no power over him. Some ponies spent the whole of their lives trying to sort out why they existed, and he was about to be told, plainly and clearly. One eyebrow arched and resembled something that was almost wisdom. He nodded, then waited, for this would surely change his life.  “Sundance”—Sunburst’s voice was gentle, but also stern—“your purpose is life.” The wheels in Sundance’s head ceased to turn quite suddenly. He blinked once, twice, thrice, but the wheels ground to a halt, the sort of halt that suggested that they may never turn again. His ears sagged, and Sundance found that his answer was no answer at all. In fact, he only had more questions now. This was pretty much the worst possible thing that could happen: to know one’s purpose but have no idea what it meant. Life? What did that mean, exactly?  “What?”  In the mirror, Sunburst smiled, but also appeared uncertain. “Your mark is a pictogram of an ecosystem. Ground, growth, and sky. Earth, plants, and rain. It is a visual representation of life, the very purpose that you serve. Princess Celestia’s purpose is also life. That is her reason for existence. She continues the existence of life, and you, that is also your purpose. Families, bloodlines, they often have a shared purpose that passes along through the generations.”  “What?” Sundance raised a hoof like a student trying to get his teacher’s attention, and he repeated himself. “What?”  “That’s not much of a question,” Sunburst said.  “What is the meaning of life?” asked Sundance.  “Well, that’s something I still haven’t figured out,” Sunburst replied.  “No…” Sundance sucked in a huge breath. “What do you mean by life? What does that mean? How is that a purpose?”  “Oh, I have no idea.” In the mirror, the tiny image of Sunburst waved his forelegs around. “You steward life. You bring life to others. By virtue of your existence, you ensure the existence of others. Princess Celestia’s continued existence allows for all of life to flourish on this planet. Though her purpose is of a much higher degree than yours, obviously. There are various potencies to purpose. Yours is minor… but meaningful.”  “Think of it as capitalised Life versus lower-case life,” Starlight said in her most helpful manner. “There is still value in lower-case purpose.”  “How do I fulfil my function?” asked Sundance. “Just how is it that I go about doing whatever it is that I do… that my… my… purpose compels me to do?” He found himself floundering, and the more he tried to inquire about it, the more questions he had. Too late, he realised that his answer was a curse. He was cursed with purpose. Punished with purpose.  This was why it was better to never ask questions or to do too much thinking.  Moondancer spoke quite suddenly: “Life without purpose is meaningless, at least in my estimation. Give others life… with purpose. What have you done since you were appointed to your position? Look for a pattern. Do you see anything that repeats? A string of similar events that all share a common theme? The point of your existence is to give life to others… and perhaps purpose as well. Think, Sundance. Don’t be overwhelmed by all of this. Break it all down and examine the little details.”  “Far back in history, Princess Celestia posed as a fertility goddess. That’s one thing you could do with life as your purpose.”  “Starlight Glimmer… I can’t even—”  “I’m not wrong, Honeyboops. With a life-oriented purpose, he could offer his services as a stud. Lots of mares need a donor—”  “Starlight Glimmer! Would you please get your mind out of the gutter.”  “I am trying to think of practical things, Shmoopy-Foo-Foo.”  Cheeks on fire, Sundance couldn’t help but think of Starlight’s suggestion. He glanced over at Moondancer, his tongue poked the dry corner of his mouth, and all of his hopes crashed into cold, hard reality. He barely understood how to even talk to mares, much less offer his services as a stud. No, that clearly wasn’t his purpose, at least not now. Maybe later. Maybe never.  Quite without meaning to do so, he thought of the females in his life. All of them, but some more than others. Due to his actions, Corduroy had a life. A purpose. She had meaning. Paradox now lived her dream—quite a thing to do for one so young. She was a wizard, and had a life filled with purpose. Earwig and Earwax still had one another, a life shared together, a bond that he couldn’t understand, but still appreciated.  And then there was Hollyhock.  Much could be said about Hollyhock.  Not only did she have a life, but she had a second chance at life.  Sundance found himself wondering just what that meant, and how it might apply to Princess Celestia.  Mercy took on new meaning, and as the raging fire in his cheeks cooled, Sundance picked over the little details of his own life. He thought of his genealogy project, which was more or less a study of lives lived—the connections of life and those who lived them. His brows furrowed and deep creases appeared on his forehead, just below the forelock of his mane. Yes, it certainly felt as though there was a pattern now that he had the perfect vision offered by hindsight.  “Now”—Sunburst cleared his throat in the Crystal Empire and Sundance heard it in Ponyville through the magic of the mirror—“about your magical talent. You are, in fact, an anomaly. Just as everypony expected you to be. But I don’t think you’re a danger to Twilight, unless of course you somehow convince her to go off and do something dangerous with you… which I suppose is entirely possible, given her need for adventure and her hobbies.”  Drawn from his thoughts, Sundance gave all of his attention to the pony in the mirror.  “Your magical talent is courage in the face of danger… but it comes at a cost.” Sunburst folded his forelegs over his barrel and used his magic to level out his crooked spectacles. “Your, uh, magic, uh, how do I say this? It, well, it ‘adjusts’ your intelligence to suit the situation. Any time that you are afraid, your intelligence drops until the fear becomes irrelevant. Until you are too stupid to realise that you’re in danger.”  “Say again?” Sundance’s ears pricked tall.  “Your talent makes you a brave idiot,” Moondancer said.  “Are… are you telling me that I’m some kind of… moron?” asked Sundance.  “Not just any moron,” Moondancer replied, “a magical moron. The dream of every civilisation is to create artificial intelligence… but you… you… you have artificial stupidity.” She reached out and tapped on a sheet of paper on the table in front of her. “Of course, this will be carefully detailed in your permanent file.”  “Uh, I’m pretty sure that you’re immune to fear,” Sunburst said with great hesitation. “I mean, you’ll still feel afraid, but you’ll continue to function. Even magical fear, or the kind of fear that can kill a pony. We can die of fright, you know. A vulnerability of our species. Fear affects us harshly, but not you. Your magic removes the awareness of fear, and the ability to think too much about it. It is rather unique. Moondancer could cast a terror spell on you if you’d like a demonstration.”  “If I say yes, is it because I am scared right now but too dumb to know it?” Sundance thought about his own words, was quite uncertain of them, and of himself as well. Right now, he might be an idiot, and not know it. Could an idiot be so idiotic that they were unaware of their idiocy? Much to his dismay, he thought about all of the stupid things he’d done, such as slaloming the smokestacks, or flying into Canterlot in the middle of a brutal storm. Or crashing into the treetop canopy to make a delivery.  It was true: he was a magical moron; that was the only explanation for his behaviour.  “Might I get it in writing that I am an imbecile?” he asked. “It could be a useful excuse.”  Moondancer snorted so hard that she knocked her glasses askew.  “My mother needs to know about this,” he said to Moondancer, who fixed her spectacles.  “Wait—” Moondancer held up her hoof in front of Sundance, as if to keep him at a distance. “Is this why you asked me to probe you? It would surely explain that kind of stupidity. You… you’re scared of me, aren’t you?”  “I might be”—Sundance might have been fine if that was all that he had said, but more words spilled out from his traitorous mouth—“but I still want to make you my bucking-bronco rodeo princess.” A second later—a long, long, long second later, he clamped both of his front hooves over his mouth and then sat there, stunned, left in shock by what he’d said.  At least he could blame his own stupidity; the excuse was valid.  “Oh, that’s awkward,” Starlight said from within the mirror.  “While I would very much like to discover coitus before I am an old, withered mare”—the bespectacled egghead endured an awkward pause—“I’d rather it not be with somepony who has a room-temperature intelligence quotient.”  “Alcohol exists for a reason, Moonie—”  “Starlight!”  “Don’t you Starlight me, Sunburst. You’ve said it yourself, she needs to get—”  “Nevermind what I said,” Sunburst said as he cut Starlight off. “This is how we ended up employed by royals. Our utter lack of professionality renders us unsuitable for the private sector.”  The fear subsided a little; Sundance could tell because he felt his thoughts creeping back in. Troubling thoughts, nagging thoughts, the sort of thoughts that pestered him—though right now he was reassured by their return. He heard giggling from the mirror and Moondancer’s face had a reddish hue. Was he among friends? Probably. This processing had brought them together. He inhaled, so much so that his lungs ached from the stretch, and then let everything go in one long, slow exhale.  Professionalism didn’t concern him; clearly, Twilight wanted friends who would work together. This wasn’t Canterlot, which was a wholly different environment. As his fear receded, his thoughts cleared and thinking became easier. This… this was a pattern in his life, the way his thoughts returned to him after tense situations. He lowered his hooves, but didn’t know what to do with them.  He thought of Hollyhock, his fear, and how he’d unleashed his stupidity upon her. It didn’t excuse him, and he knew the importance of taking responsibility for his actions. Now that he was aware of it, he’d have to own it. Life would challenge him. He would find himself in danger. Fear would encroach upon him—and he would respond. The idea of an apology scared him—quite a bit, in fact—and he wondered how such fear might influence him. It might make the apology harder.  At last, the muted, muffled giggles in the mirror subsided, and Sundance felt calm again.