The Sun Wants To Help

by Thistle Gravity

The Petitioner Pt 1

It was just after lunch in the Solar Court, and Princess Celestia had just sat down upon her throne, her belly warm with tea and toasted sandwiches. As if as a sign of her pleasant mood, the sun shone warm and unceasing through the stained glass windows, casting rainbows across the purple tapestries and white marble.

The princess gestured.

The massive doors were propped open, sunlight and fresh air filtering in with the long line of petitioners. Ponies who had scheduled themselves in to see Celestia moved forward on the red carpet until the way was tied off to do so, by gold and velvet. This left half the room spacious and open, perfect for a pony to collect their thoughts. Celestia for her part, other than prompt, was happy to bask in the atmosphere of organized harmony.

These scheduled moments were, while tedious, her chance to become a passive activist in her ponies’ lives, although most seemed to want to argue about money, or property. That was fine too.

What also helped her mood was that this was the month of the first-year anniversary since the throne room had been redecorated, with her sister in mind.

The room echoed a dusky morning since the redesign.

Celestia's favorite part was while the dais was higher off the floor than before, it allowed for two thrones now, sitting side by side. Hers was red and gold, naturally; her sister’s, blue and silver. As the focal points of the room, the thrones were set against a cosmological backdrop of mosaics. A moon sat on one side, a sun on the other. Crowning the vaulted ceiling, was an array of shooting stars, flanked by purple curtains.

The sounds of running water, from the installed fountains, were a serene and functional final touch. Ponies were invited to drink, if they needed it - this saved awkward encounters with castle staff, who had been struggling to decipher and bus around customized orders. There were simply too many ponies to serve for the kitchen staff.

Every day, it came down to this feeling, this sense of accomplishment for this room, that echoed into the world beyond. It was her hope it would serve so many ponies; not just her and Luna. Just as the total of recent castle renovations were the culmination of years of separate points of events, now inscribed forever in the architecture - The designs for this room were sum of many crystallized epiphanies regarding harmony, as well as the diarchy’s place within it.

Our lives rest alongside cosmic gears, ever turning. Every action has a reaction, every mistake teaches us something new. Harmony is eternal.

Celestia inhaled the cool, wintry air of the season as she mused this manta, before seeing her latest visitor down below. She smiled.

"Yes, my little pony? How may I assist you, this day?"

"I want to die," Came the soft-spoken response.

That wasn’t right, Celestia thought, blinking. She must have misheard.

A pale brown mare in her young twenties gazed up at her, a purple cloak fastened at her throat with an over-sized button. Her mane was streaked blue and teal, cut coltishly short. It didn’t appear combed, the way hair stuck out and clumped here and there. She was likely from out of town.

Celestia had hoped there would have been no sign of the mare’s words upon her face when the alicorn had studied her. As it was, the mare sat quietly and without motion, ears gently erect; qualities that could have easily be misinterpreted for being calm.

The mare's eyes stared, blinking every now and then with a delayed, sleepy sort of look; watery and filled with rich, blue hues.

With a sea of emotion held at bay, itself a dilemma; Celestia was in a panic, itself the other. In her waking memory - no, she couldn’t even recall if this had ever happened before.

Harmony, Celestia thought, heart fluttering - This mare isn't calm at all. She was holding back, likely because they were in public, and this was a very orderly, predicted place. For as much space the mare had upon the floor, there was no room allowed for tears.

An error of princessly judgment.

Movement out of her peripheral showed one of her guards inquiring in a coded gesture if her visitor needed to be removed.

She had forgotten she was supposed to speak. Her guest, apparently impatient, chose to intervene.

"I want to d-die, Princess Celestia," The mare repeated, ears shifting slightly. Her mouth moved as she chewed her words, glancing at the line of ponies that waited beyond the door - several already glaring. She quickly faced forward and blinked up at the princess, tearfully. "I've wanted to, for a long time now."

Celestia nodded slowly, at the very least to show how she had heard the mare. She silently inhaled, the seconds ticking down until she had to dole her princessly wisdom, her resources; and be done with it, as was the expectation and design of these meets.

How tenuous it was, the building realization that this single encounter might determine whether a pony lived to see tomorrow. How inadequate her designs for this room had been, that a pony felt chased away - and herself, feeling guilty for not doing the chasing.

This isn't normal.

Naturally, she chose at the last moment to stall for time. Or perhaps, more information.

"I am sorry to hear that, my little pony." The princess murmured, her voice carrying on behalf of the room’s acoustics alone. "What can I do to help you with that?"

Yes, good thinking Tia. Let's narrow down the list first. Most ponies don't want to hear that they wasted their time in line, when they should have seen a therapist instead. Surely she knows what she wants out of this endeavor.

Half-flexed wings relaxed at the princess's sides, the sense of control filling her chest.

Her visitor however, suddenly looked at the door. The way her ears folded, and her muscles tensed, Celestia could tell she was considering the option to bolt - before the mare glanced back up, biting her lip.

You're right, little one. These meets weren't made for your problems. What will you do now that you realize this?

"I'm not sure," The mare admitted, shuffling her hooves worriedly. "I- See, I waited in line, and even before then I debated asking you to cure me. But then I presumed you wouldn't, because you might not have that ability, or I wouldn't deserve it."

Celestia blinked. Her internal critic was silent.

The mare grimaced and continued, "Or perhaps you would just tell me that depression was my battle to face alone, like there was merit in suffering, or some greater plan for harmony if I defeated it."

Others have said that to you, haven't they, Celestia mused, brows knitting at this misinformation.

"No," The princess corrected "I wouldn't say that to you."

"Oh." The mare glanced away, digesting this. The surprise had evidently shocked her into silence.

"There is no virtue gained through hardship. Wisdom perhaps," Celestia told her. "But never at the sacrifice of getting aid."

A slow nod, then a pensive knitting of the brows. "Are you going to tell me to get therapy?"

Maybe.

"If you know that it's available, there isn't really a reason for me to tell you, and waste your visit with me," Celestia smiled - her heart leaping when she saw her expression reflected, the mare appearing hopeful at such a mere, few words - and breaking.

I haven't done anything yet for you to be happy about.

"So," The mare fumbled with her words. "What would you... suggest? Or do?"

"I am an ardent believer that friendship can help you solve any problem," Celestia said, but added at the mare's crestfallen look, "But before I suggest anything to you, my little pony, I would like to learn more about you."

The princess gestured discretely, leaving the guards to their devices. In her peripheral Celestia watched them ease the line of petitioners back, and close the door to the throne room. She pretended the line wasn’t complaining as much as it was.

The thud-clank-creaking of the door made the mare jump and look behind her in a flash.

Sighing in relief at the lack of what she expected - other ponies- the mare returned to her exchange, nodding if rather anxiously, by the way her eyes suddenly found interest in the carpet.

"Well, I have a name," The mare said, "But it isn't very good. And what I mean by that, is it doesn't match me in any way, even when I had a cutie mark. Nopony really calls me by it, except professors. And my parents."

'Had' a cutie mark? Celestia hid her surprise with a wise nod.

"That isn't uncommon, just so you know. Many ponies change their names as they grow up, to better suit them. What...may I ask, is on your flank now?"

The mare smiled slightly. Apologetic. "Nothing, Princess."

Any further inquiries about what she meant were abated, when the mare straightened up on white-furred legs and turned around, lifting the hem of her cloak with her magic, revealing a bare, brown flank.

Celestia masked her surprise with another nod, doing her best not to stare. "That is certainly - interesting."

A goldfish would be better at harmony than you, Tia.

The mare for her part seemed happy about the princess's feigned enthusiasm.

"It is quite strange isn't it? I- um, see, I had a cutie mark at one point, but it sort of faded away. It was a dove. Nopony told me it was unnatural, but everypony was certainly worried. You could see it in their eyes. My family blamed me for it though. I suppose that didn't help much."

They blamed you?

Celestia felt her heart hammer in her chest, even as the mare's flank was taken out of sight, the mare re-situating herself on the carpet.

She had heard of this phenomenon, Celestia realized, her eyes flickering out of focus. Worse, she had even grades a few papers on the subject.

The magic behind cutiemarks was the source of extensive research across millennia, but even certain aspects to it were still unknown. Sometimes, if a pony's emotive or physical illness went untreated, it could result in a cutie mark vanishing altogether.

Most supported the theory it was due to psychosomatic depletion of magic. This was a widely-occurring, but temporary affliction that occurred after incidents requiring hospitalization, due to the mild thaumatic disruption that occurred while a pony's body handled the healing process. The disruption usually lasted at most two weeks, and never affected more than a unicorn's ability to use their horns, or any other pony, their limbs. The psychosomatic depletion that would take a cutie mark would have to require very deep trauma, over a very long period of time. Mental illness would have certainly qualified for this - and the mare was definitely ill; there was no doubt about that.

But it wasn't simply the evidence that had startled Celestia, but the potential of it. The psychosomatic removal of a cutiemark was often the precursor to a malignant, dubbed 'coping' talent appearing - which often required permanent institutionalization, because at that point, the coping talent made the pony unable to mesh with society.

The alicorn suppressed a shiver, remembering an occasion she had visited the psyche ward of the local hospital out of curiosity to speak to an authority on the matter.

Ponies were not supposed to bark like that. It went against harmony.

Celestia stared down at her visitor, the ticking time-bomb for things other than death. Rage mixed with fear, mixed with pity.

Her family blamed her for her illness. Then, they blamed her for her cutiemark.

It was a miracle the mare hadn't asked her to kill anypony.

It was wrong. It was wrong. It was wrong. It was wro-

Celestia smiled. “We will deal with that.”

She wasn’t sure she believed herself, with the slight rattle in her voice.