• Published 11th Jan 2018
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House of the Rising Sunflower - kudzuhaiku



Hard work is its own reward, and competence can be one's ultimate undoing.

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Cognitive dissonance

Corduroy's infirmary was almost a magical place when it rained. Something about the stone cottage became quite cosy, though what caused it exactly was unknown to Sundance. Was it the rain against the windows? The sound of the rain striking the roof? Oil lamps burned in the window sills to hold the oppressive grey outside at bay and there was a certain warmth to be found within the cottage walls that had nothing to do with heat.

"You asked to see me, Flicker?"

"I did." While his voice sounded stronger, Flicker did not look well. His eyes though, they were bright, aware, and intimidating. This was a pony who was down—but not out. "Hennessy told me about your airborne adventures, and I wanted to speak with you."

"What's on your mind?" asked Sundance as he sat down and got settled on a wooden chair.

"Hennessy told me about the spiders." Eyes almost closed, Flicker's head rolled on the pillows, and his neck made an awful crackling sound. "And about the rabbit bombing. He said you flew in between the flames and incoming shots of webbing. Henny was quite adamant that you showed exceptional air superiourity."

"Not sure about that," replied Sundance. "Paradox shot at a lot of webbing and—"

"Let's not tell lies." There was a cold hardness in Flicker's words. "Paradox is a scholar, and not a combat mage. Do away with false modesty. While I am certain she helped, she has no experience with hitting moving targets while standing on a moving platform. Do you have any idea how complicated that is? Don't sell yourself short, Sundance. Most of that was you."

Unable to refute that, Sundance shrugged.

"I want to help you help yourself," Flicker said as he turned his head in Sundance's direction. "To that end, I've decided to conscript you into—"

"No." Shaking his head from side to side, Sundance's jaw muscles contracted so hard that his molars ached from the strain. "I will only serve my land and my interests. I'll not be dragged away to fight in Canterlot. I am needed here."

"Let me finish." Though it took some effort and no doubt caused him some pain, Flicker held his right front hoof up. "I have the power to conscript ponies into local militias. Trust me, I have no desire to take you away from what is important to you. You fight hard because this is your home turf. But if I conscript you, I can give you the means to defend it."

"Alright, I'm listening."

"I give you my word that you'll not get dragged into the Canterlot conflict."

While that was reassuring, Sundance said nothing in return.

"I can give supplies to conscripted militias," Flicker said while he allowed his raised hoof to come to rest against the mattress once more. "That's the thing. The sticking point. I can't just give away supplies and material to anypony. There's requisition forms and such. Paperwork. But as a conscript, I can give you gas. Bombs. Devices that will assist your eradication efforts. I can even give you a mask"—he coughed and it was a wet, raspy sound—"though I'm thinking that a pair of goggles might be better for your purposes. Corduroy and Growler have already agreed to be auxiliary alchemists, and I'll be able to supply them."

Uncertain of how to respond, Sundance reached up and began to rub the scars on the back of his neck while he studied Flicker in silence. His hoof brushed against the leather harness given to him by Grandmother Growler and this jolted his thoughts, though he was unsure of what to think. While he had Flicker's reassurance that he wouldn't get called away, Sundance wasn't so sure that he trusted that. Things happened. Sometimes, promises were broken. Though he knew that conscription and drafting weren't things that you could turn down.

Flicker had more authority than he did.

"You have to do it," Flicker said, almost wheezing. "Bourgogne Blintz is already crafting it into your image campaign. The Bomber Baron, who selflessly guards his territory against the vermin menace. All alone, he took up the fight, because somepony had to. At long last, a noble that isn't afraid to do a little hard work and get his hooves dirty—"

"You bastard. Not only can I not tell you no, but somepony else's work already depends upon me saying yes. You're an utter bastard."

"Yeah, I kinda am," Flicker agreed. "It's a good image though. A champion of the ponies. The common dullards will eat it up like popcorn."

"I'm not sure I like this—"

"It doesn't matter what you like." Flicker's voice was a sociopath's cold whisper. "Doesn't matter what I like. You and I, we're servants of the greater good. Ponies need heroes. Not just to save the world, but to save them. It gives them focus and something that they aspire to be. What we do gives meaning to their shit lives. I'm enshrined, Sundance. You might not understand what this means, but my very existence is tied to the public's belief in me as a hero. That's why I didn't die in Celestia's school when everything turned bloody. The rats couldn't kill me because you can't kill an idea… a belief."

Everything about this absolutely horrified Sundance, who had no idea what it meant.

"Now, Bourgogne Blintz does her job right… and enough ponies start to believe in what you're doing here, Sundance… and your life might get just a little bit weird." Eyes closed, his barrel rising and falling with each measured breath, Flicker was clearly in pain but trying to hide it. "It's all part of a calculated risk. Heroes are believed in. That's what makes them heroes. If you want to do what is good, what is right, then you have an obligation to provide. Give others a reason to believe. Now if you will excuse me, I think I might pass out for a while. Go and have yourself a think, Sundance."

"But I—"

"Go take it up with that crystal tree you got growing out there," Flicker said while his eyelids fluttered. "Or better yet, Twilight Sparkle… the architect behind this grand plan. She's already got you where she wants you. Me? I'm gonna get me some shuteye. I like this place. It's peaceful."

Realising it was pointless to try and coax more out of Flicker, Sundance said, "Rest well."

But Flicker, as it turned out, had a little more left to say.

"When your friends believe in you, anything is possible. Anything at all. That's Twilight's real power. She's trying to share that power with you, Sundance. With us. With anypony and anyone that will believe. It's not just cute, trite words, but the nature of magic itself. Belief makes things real, Sundance. Badasses and heroes aren't born, they're believed in. Friendship is how it starts… just a few that believe in you… but then it snowballs… and things happen."

"Get some sleep, Flicker. We'll talk later, if you're up for it."


Of course, the crystal tree held no answers, but Sundance liked to imagine that it did. He stood in the rain, thoughtful, uncertain, and wishing that Cucumber and his grandmother both were here with him. They might have something to say, some answers to offer. But even if they didn't have answers to his questions, they might have reassurance. The crystal tree had grown a bit, but that was no real surprise, as Sundance himself had grown.

One day, he might have offspring, and the tree would grow even more, for such was the way of things. At least, as he understood them. His blood had gone into the soil, and his mercy into Cucumber. That made the tree sprout. He barely understood it, yet the wondrous miracle existed even if he couldn't comprehend it. Rainwater ran in rivulets down his face, under his eyes, into his ears, and flowed through the furrows of his scars.

There was a quiet, contentious ache somewhere in the vicinity of his heart.

What made heroes?

Were they born, or were they believed in as Flicker had said?

Try as he might, Sundance couldn't tell why anypony would believe in him. He was naïve. Unknowledgeable. He was most certainly not a learned pony. In hindsight he'd discovered that his mother had filled his head with some garbage, the sort of destructive thinking that made everything worse, and now he lived with the troubling split that his mother was a good pony that believed in bad things. This split could not be reconciled, not in Sundance's mind, and it tore at his thoughts like a barbed sliver lodged in his mind. He wanted to believe that his mother was a good pony, and he clung to that idea even though doing so hurt him in some way that he could not express.

If his mother was a bad pony because of her ideas, her thoughts, what did that make him?

Not the hero that others might believe him to be, but a sham.

A fraud.

He'd been infected with those troubling thoughts and now he wrestled with them.

Even now, after all he'd learned, and all the changes he'd made, they still crept up on him, unawares.

When he tore his gaze away from the crystal tree and looked down at Cucumber's grave, a painful chill permeated the vital space betwixt his ribs. Old Cucumber was a murderer. And a liar, too. A lie of omission. Officer Mom had a lot to say about lies of omission, and Sundance had spent much of his foalhood as a target for his mother's many lectures. For being a murderer and a liar, Cucumber was also a good pony—at least, Sundance desperately wanted to believe that. Otherwise, his own hero was completely unworthy, unfit to be believed in.

What might his grandmother have to say about all of this? Heroes had stories told about them—stories that may or may not be true. Sundance felt as though he were on the cusp of some great understanding, some epiphany that would forever alter his perceptions and how he saw the world—but it remained frustratingly out of reach. Beyond his comprehension. But he was aware of it, like an elusive firefly that stayed just out of reach no matter how he ran or flew after it.

Ultimately, it didn't matter how he felt, or what he believed. With a shivery sigh, Sundance accepted this bitter, unpleasant fact. What mattered is what others thought of him, what others believed about him—true or not—and the good that might be accomplished from such a belief. Flicker had the right of it; they were servants of the greater good.

Just as Cucumber, his grandmother Noonfire, and yes, even Officer Mom served the greater good. Flawed ponies could still do good things. The floodgates were flung wide open, and more than rain washed down Sundance's cheeks. Emotion took the form of a salty, stinging liquid, which poured from his eyes in torrents. Each breath he took threatened to rip him asunder, until at last he could no longer contain his sobs.

At least the torrential downpour concealed his grief.

Author's Note:

Sorry if this is short, but it is exactly as long as it needs to be.

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