A Beginner's Guide to Heroism

by LoyalLiar

XXXII - Concerning Selfishness

XXXII
Concerning Selfishness

I'll spare you our negotiations and our trip down the Volgallop for want of anything interesting happening on the voyage. For the first time since my journey began, I was confident in not needing to look over my shoulder. Alas, though my literal back was safe, my past with Wintershimmer proved a far more persistent stalker.

The last stop down the icy Volgallop was Trotsylvania, a city that was at once far smaller than River Rock, and yet also far more populated. It sat on the threshold of a natural cove at the mouth of the river, and marked where we would have to exchange our river boat for a more seaworthy ship to make the final jaunt to Equestria. The ship I had originally meant to charter for a non-stop trip to Platinum’s Landing had already sailed by the time my little troupe and I were finally ready to go on our way.

Unlike River Rock’s dead windows, the little glass gaps in the wooden walls of Trotsylvania’s houses flickered with candlelight and turned dark in brief spats of shadow as ponies moved about within.

Finding a ship to take us to Equestria was laughably easy; the huge majority of trade with River Rock took the sea route from Trotsylvania to Platinum’s Landing, and there was always plenty of open space in the ships headed back from Cyclone’s poor and sometimes starving demesne toward the wealthier, sunnier seat of equine civilization. Not five minutes after we set hoof on the docks had passed before Blizzard and I negotiated passage on a ship the following morning. That left only one more evening to pass in the eternal chill before I would once again be able to feel warmth in my extremities.

As we walked up from the docks and into town, the differences from River Rock became clear not just from lit windows but from the ponies milling about the streets. Everything was still gray and dreary, but at least the ponies existed, wearing hoods and focusing on their daily tasks. Most stayed clear of our way as we walked. However, rounding a corner toward the center of town, we were surrounded by a small mob of what I can only assume were either orphans or ambitious young entrepreneurs.

“Ooh, you’re new in town!”

“You’ve got a pretty coat miss!”

“I want a pet bear too!”

“Can you spare some bread? I’m really hungry.”

“Or a coin; we’ve got a baker here. Just need some coin.”

Graargh, not quite tall enough to see over the dozen-or-so colts and fillies, roared at the top of his lungs. Most of the foals scattered at the noise, leaving us standing in the middle of the road as the locals surrounded us. One particular beggar, however, had latched onto my right foreleg, hoping that I would protect her from my fearsome ursine bodyguard.

I picked up my foreleg, and felt my temple throb in irritation as she continued to hang from the now raised limb. “I’m afraid you’ll find, if you take a good look, that I’m not actually a tree.”

“But… but bear…”

“He’s not going to hurt you.” I shook my foreleg until she dropped off of it, tumbling rather adeptly when her hooves landed on the street. That done, I briefly reached back to my pouch for a coin or two. There, my hoof hesitated. I thought back to the little filly I’d saved from Silhouette’s cronies the morning my rather extended journey began.

Frowning, I passed her a single silver coin Cyclone had given us—enough at least for a meal—and turned to go my way. My only pause was to check the contents of my bag, and make sure crowding us hadn’t been a distraction for some clever pickpocketing. Thankfully, in that instance at least, the foals were genuine in their requests.

About halfway across Trotsylvania’s town square, Angel tapped my shoulder. “Master Coil, shouldn’t we wait for Blizzard?”

I glanced back to see that, sure enough, Blizzard was still standing next to the little filly—and now a sizeable crowd of her friends who had returned. Blizzard was counting out coins, handing each little figure a few pieces of the glistening metal. When she was done, at least a few of the colts and fillies hugged her or gave her a quick nuzzle before the mass dispersed into the countless side-streets of the city.

“Sorry about holding us up, Morty.” Blizzard told me as she approached, smiling as wide as the street we were standing on and even skipping a bit. When she reached the rest of our group, though, some portion of that happiness slipped away. “You okay?”

I shrugged. “Fine. Why?”

“Morty lie,” Graargh announced bluntly. “Something wrong. Graargh am see. I am see.”

I chuckled at his correction, realizing that at least some portion of my lessons were beginning to stick. “It’s stupid. Don’t mind me. I’ll get over it.”

That, too, proved to be a lie.

---

That night I lay staring at a wooden beam above my head. The beady eyes of a mouse stared back down at me, sniffing the air in distrust as if wondering what I was doing in its inn. I ignored the unspoken question, but sleep refused to come. Graargh’s snoring at the foot of the bed did not help. Rolling over as quietly as I could on the hay-stuffed mattress, I slipped past the foot of Blizzard’s bed and out into the inn’s hallway, leaving my signature jacket behind.

The path down the hall and out the front door of the inn was barren, and I soon found myself outside in the snowy streets of Trotsylvania. Wanting for somewhere better to sit and reflect, I made my way back down toward the docks. A few of Cyclone’s guards patrolled the streets, but I avoided them with ease—less out of concern that I might be arrested, and more due to a desire for privacy.

At the docks, I sat down and stared out at the mouth of the icy river. And then, lighting up my horn just a bit, I picked up a bit of the water. The cup’s worth of near-ice held for two seconds or so before it splashed back down into the river, released when I felt my horn near the verge of flaring. I took a deep breath, closed my eyes, and picked up the water again.

Making a telekinetic grip solid enough to hold water requires incredible magical control. I’d long practiced the trick with Wintershimmer, in hopes that I might prevent my magic from flaring up whenever I cast any meaningful magic. Sometimes, Wintershimmer forced me to use the magic over dinner to drink, instead of lifting my glass to my lips. Most often, I ended up with a soaked chest and a stained jacket. Wintershimmer, in contrast, could hold a glassful worth of wine above the table even as he manipulated silverware with his telekinesis, all-but-eliminating the need for glassware or plates.

I dropped my water again and brought a hoof to my brow in irritation. Gritting my teeth, I lifted the water again.

Wingbeats broke my concentration, and I turned to see Blizzard landing on the lonely dock behind me before I even heard the splash.

“What are you doing out here, Morty?”

“Can’t sleep.” I picked up the water again.

Blizzard sat down next to me. “Is this about those foals? Are you worried about us not having enough money?”

I gritted my teeth, focusing even more on the water in my grip. “I can earn us money anytime.”

“Alright. Well, what’s on your mind then?”

“I thought I told you it was nothing.”

“You did,” Blizzard answered. “And it was such a blatant lie that even Graargh saw through it. Now you’re losing sleep. So I’m worried about you.”

The water fell. A little splash of salt graced my nose, and the chill sent a shiver up my muzzle. “It’s stupid.”

Blizzard shook her head. “Feelings are feelings, Morty. They don’t have to make sense.”

“No. But a wizard ought to be able to control them. Emotion makes focusing on magic harder.”

“That doesn’t seem very healthy,” Blizzard observed. She reached her wing down to the water, and touched just the tip of her leading feather to its surface. With audible cracks, the water froze into a little sphere, which she pulled up out of the mouth of the Volgallop and set between us. “I don’t know much about being a wizard, but pegasus magic feeds on emotions. Father’s anger makes fire. My sadness becomes ice. In the moment, I can use my magic to get rid of the worst of my feelings. But being a pegasus doesn’t mean I’m not still a pony. Magic isn’t meant to take away feeling.”

I picked up the sphere of ice in my magic. Smaller than even a hoof, it nevertheless possessed a sort of beauty—at once too eerily smooth to seem real, and containing ripples and whorls from Blizzard’s magic that gave it a sensation of naturalness and life.

I set the ball down and looked up into Blizzard’s eyes. “I used to think that under Wintershimmer I was going to be some kind of storybook hero. Being welcomed home with parades in the streets, saving the princess, …”

“You came close with Gale.”

“Not really. I mostly got her into more trouble. The only thing I ever saved her from, maybe, was getting pulled back to Everfree with Tempest.” I rolled my eyes and shook my head. “Look, the point is, when I fought Clover, I realized what Wintershimmer really was. And I was his apprentice. That made me realize what I was really doing, calling myself a hero.”

“What do you mean?”

“I wanted attention. Fame. Luxury. Respect. All the things ponies imagine that come with being admired.” I put my hoof down on Blizzard’s sphere and rolled it in a small circle on the beams of the dock. The chill was surreal, at once bringing shivers and yet feeling almost warmer than the surrounding air. “Back then, I was clever enough—or dumb enough—to convince myself I was a good pony for doing those things. But today, when I thought about giving that little filly some money, the first thought in my mind was how many ponies were watching. Then what to say to make myself seem like the hero. And I’m worried that no matter how much I try, that’s never going to change.”

Blizzard extended a wing, but didn’t wrap it over my shoulders. After a moment’s hesitation, I leaned in against her side and she closed the feathery blanket around me. “I don’t know much about being a hero, Morty. But if you want to get away from that feeling, why not try keeping things secret?”

“Hmm?”

“Help somepony without them seeing you. See if that makes you feel better. You’ll know you aren’t getting the fame out of it.”

I swallowed, and then I nodded. “I can try.”

---

You might be surprised to find out just how easy it is for a pony to find chances to be a decent caring pony, if that is the only thing you’re looking for. In many cities in more modern Equestria, those chances come in the form of old mares who need a shoulder to lean on walking across town, or foals whose kites are stuck in trees. In the frozen wastes of the former Diamond Kingdoms, however, the opportunities were just a bit more savage—thankfully less in the form of extortionist guardsponies, and more in the form of far less violent pickpockets.

Graargh and Blizzard were walking with me down the street, and Angel hovered by my head, when I saw the first one: a lanky yellow stallion whose hoof had just ever so gently found its way into a nearby mare’s coin pouch as he whistled nonchalantly into the air.

I fought back the urge to poke Graargh or Blizzard and point out what I was about to do; even something that small would defeat my point. Instead, I took a single deliberately slow stride, so that the glow on my horn would pass unnoticed by my companions. When neither one turned around I let my horn flare briefly but forcefully, balling up nothing as elaborate or as explanatorily involved as my usual magic. Instead, I just grabbed his rear hooves with my telekinesis and hoisted them above his head, such that the unfortunate pickpocket went diving face-first into his intended prize. Naturally, the weight of a grown stallion is more than enough to get the attention of his victim, and she whirled around in shock, only to shout “Pickpocket” and start slapping the stallion over the brow with her purse, presumably full of weighty coins.

I said nothing as my companions—and everypony else on the street—turned toward the commotion. I resisted the urge to announce myself in any way. I did, however, give into one small indulgence on the grounds that it wouldn’t win me anything even remotely resembling gratitude. As we walked past the pickpocket who was shielding his brow with both his forehooves, I gave the stallion a wink and very deliberately whistled a nonchalant tune. He glared in reply, as if swearing revenge.

I genuinely do not remember a thing about the rest of our walk, though i suspect that Graargh and Blizzard were talking to each other, or possibly to me. My mind, however, was on how I felt about my actions.

Namely, I felt bored. I’d saved a mare from losing her coin to a criminal, but the entire event had passed by in a mere moment. There was no real conflict, no challenge, and certainly no opportunity for clever wordplay.

If anything, it felt to me like a waste of my time.

Comments

[RexDraconum]

Damn, that character development!

[djthomp]

Secret heroism doesn't really seem to be Morty's shtick, but I guess we'll see how it goes.

As we walked past the pickpocket who was shielding his brow with both his forehooves, I gave the stallion a wink and very deliberately whistled a nonchalant tune. He glared in reply, as if swearing revenge.

Could be more secret.

And more fulfilling, apparently.