My Brave Pony: The Heart of the World

by Scipio Smith

A Welcome Coincidence

A Welcome Coincidence

Contrary to what her manners and her trappings of refinement and gentility might lead you to expect, Rarity did not consider herself a snob. In fact, if there was one thing that had made her disillusioned by the high society of Canterlot it was the sheer, grinding, relentless snobbery of the place and of the ponies who lived there – who could have believed that Princess Celestia could preside over a society so… if not inimical to Celestia’s own values, then certainly very nearly so. She was still determined to open up her boutique there, because one had to have a boutique in Canterlot if one wished to be anypony in the world of fashion, in the same way that one couldn’t say one had made it until one had a boutique in Manehattan, but she no longer aspired to join the high-class unicorns who thronged about the court, living for gossip and for the Princess’ favour, hanging upon the hoof of the latest trendsetter, doing whatever they said without a thought for themselves, supported entirely by the income of their estates, doing no work and looking down upon those who did work. No, such a life was not for her. The city, yes, Canterlot still held a piece of her heart, but its society? No, that was not her dream, not any longer. All that she would, she would have, but she would have it through her own effort, not through courting the favour of princes and notables, and she would have more than a life spent talking about who was in and who was out.

Hmm. That thought had rather gotten away from her, hadn’t it? Where was she? Ah, yes, she was a snob, no matter what some ponies might thing; she was a lady, yes, beyond all doubt – another area where it didn’t matter what other ponies had to say, any more than it mattered where she had been born or in what town she lived – but she did not judge those who did not share her values any more than she did not share her taste. She and Applejack were opposites in almost every conceivable respect, but she still counted her amongst her dearest friends, and valued as dearly all her virtues: not just her honesty but her reliability also, the air of calm confidence that she possessed in all but the most dire of circumstances, her great store of common sense. Not to mention, in a more frivolous vein, the marvellously lugubrious manner in which she spoke.

All of which was to say that Rarity did not judge. She did not judge Applejack for being a farmpony, she didn’t judge Pinkie Pie for her eccentricities, she didn’t judge Twilight for the fact that she did not exactly uphold the manners of a lady despite having far more claim to be one than Rarity.

However, as she looked at the house to which Hannibal had brought them, Rarity had to confess that she felt just a touch of despair.

This was where Hannibal and his father lived? It was barely a house. It was almost a hovel, although if you were scientific about this it probably escaped the term by just a fraction.

It stood at the far end of a cul de sac, closing off the road, planting itself across the stone pathway like a guard defending a gate. It was large enough, at least large enough for two, but goodness it was in need of some loving care. It was kept clean, which was about the only good thing that could really be said about it, but the shutters were falling off the windows, the door was splintering, and the roof was sagging alarmingly in the middle. Cleanliness, and an attempt to paint the stone walls in bright blue, although the paint was peeling off in places, had clearly not translated into maintenance.

Rarity glanced at Applejack, whose mouth was hanging open. It was clear that Rarity was not the only one who was feeling mildly appalled by the sight that confronted them.

Hannibal cringed. “I’m sorry it doesn’t look so good; it’s hard enough just getting food.”

“Things are that bad?” Rarity asked.

Hannibal shrugged. “People are not kind to my dreams, but they understand my lack of means; they sometimes give, or do me favours; but not enough for all the labours; that are required by our home, those I must try and take care of alone.”

“Ah take it you don’t have much more skill at carpentry than you do at being a mercenary or the like,” Applejack said.

“Is it so terribly obvious?” Hannibal asked. “No wonder my father thinks me a lost cause.”

“No more of that, Hannibal, please,” Rarity said, raising one hoof. “I don’t want to hear you putting yourself down any more. Now, it’s true that this place could use… a little fixing up, but trust me, once you become a success you’ll be able to afford people to do all of that sort of thing for you.” She felt a touch of urgency added to her and Applejack’s… she hesitated to use the word ‘mission’ but that was almost what it felt like: it was clear now that things could not simply continue on as they were; Hannibal had to break out of his shell and be free to pursue his own dreams not only for his own good and personal satisfaction but for the sake of the living situation that he shared with his father, also.

Perhaps the prospect of escaping from squalor might make Hannibal’s father a little amenable to giving up on his dreams for his son, and letting Hannibal pursue his own.

Hannibal did not reply to that directly. Rather, he said, “I think you both very much for coming, so very far from your home being; you have no need to give me aid, as I know I’ve already said. Still, my gratitude bears repeating, I feared that my efforts had been self-defeating; yet they have brought me more success, than I have ever before possessed. Thank you both so very much, in our meeting I feel fortune’s touch.”

“Aw, no need to be like that, Sugarcube, it ain’t nothin’ at all,” Applejack said. “Besides, why don’t you save the thanks for after we’ve helped you out some, huh?”

“Whether or not you convince my father, I am grateful that you would bother,” Hannibal said. “I regret I know not how I may, your generosity repay.”

“Generosity, darling, asks for no reward,” Rarity said. “Now, why don’t we go inside and see what your father has to say?”

Hannibal winced, and looked as though he would much rather stand around outside chit-chatting with Rarity and Applejack than actually go into the house and let them speak to his father, but nevertheless, despite his discomfort, he nodded his head, turned away from the two ponies, and approached the door.

It creaked alarmingly as he placed his hoof against the wood, pushing it open to admit some light into what was, otherwise, a rather dark and honestly rather dingy abode. It was not dusty, there were no cobwebs or any other evidence of uncleanliness – and a good thing, too, no true fashionista could abide such things, and Rarity was glad that it seemed that Hannibal knew his way around a feather duster. Nevertheless, the house was dark; half the shutters were closed, and although they were in such need of repair that they admitted light anyway, they were patches of pale sunlight surrounded by lakes of shadow. There were no candles lit, and no other kind of light but what the broken shutters admitted.

Rarity’s horn glowed with a brilliant blue light, dispelling some of the darkness to reveal that, in addition to being dark, the house was also rather austere as well, without much in the way of décor, or indeed anything to make living in it a pleasant experience: few books, no plants, no pictures on the walls, no soft furnishings or little touches to add character to the space. Glancing at the spear hung on the wall, Rarity suspected that this barrenness was the doing of Hannibal’s father, and that left to his own devices Hannibal might have, money permitting, at least attempted to do something with it.

“What is that light? Why shines so bright?” a slight hoarse voice demanded loudly. “Who are these ponies, get you gone! I did not ask you to my home!”

Their attention was drawn to an older zebra – a true zebra, not an abraxas – sitting on the floor, with a scroll written in some language Rarity could decipher unrolled in front of him. He was tall, as tall as his son but broader in the shoulders, but thin; not in a lithe or wiry way, but genuinely skinny verging upon underfed. His limbs were slender, and fragile looking. His mane was tall, and combed straight up like the crest of a helmet, but it was also turning to white and starting to droop in places. There were scars visible upon his face and body, and his eyes were a watery blue like a pool under the summer sunlight.

“Peace, father, peace I pray,” Hannibal urged. “Until you hear what they have to say. These are my friends, Applejack and Rarity, I grant them our hospitality; I met them in the market square, such luck to dream of I did not dare.” To Rarity and Applejack, he added, “This is my father Hamilcar; who bids me, like him, go to war.”

Rarity bowed her head. “Good day, sir. It’s a pleasure to meet you. You have a very fine son.”

“’I have a very fine son’ does this mare take me for a fool? I know you are a useless tool!” Hamilcar exclaimed. “Whence come these ponies to this place, rarely do we see there race? You met them in the market square, where you just idly loitering there? I sent you there-“

“We are perfectly aware of why you have Hannibal wasting his time in the market square, thank you,” Rarity declared primly, cutting Hamilcar off before the older zebra could finish. Her tone was sharp, her ire roused by Hamilcar’s cutting, dismissive words, words wholly undeserved by Hannibal, whose only fault was being unable to fit into the mould that his father wished. “And a greater waste of time and talent I can scarcely imagine.”

Hamilcar spluttered with outrage. “Who are you to come in here and with your words into me tear?”

“It doesn’t matter who I am,” Rarity replied. “What matters is who your son is, what he is not, and what he wishes to become.”

Hamilcar’s eyes narrowed. “I see that Hannibal has been talking, about his ‘dreams’, his so-called ‘longings’.”

“I don’t see that there’s any so-called about it,” Applejack said. “Nor any call to talk about ‘em like that, either. Hannibal knows what he wants, just so happens that it ain’t what you want.”

Hamilcar’s lip curled into a sneer. “Hannibal knows what he wants, you say? I’ve heard of what he wants for days! Fashion, colour, clothes and vanity, you don’t have to explain it all to me. This is not work for a respectable living, no wonder we’re reliant upon giving!”

Rarity’s nostrils flared with annoyance. “And what would you call a respectable living? Being the town laughingstock? Hanging around hoping in vain to gull unsuspecting people with the idea that Hannibal is some sort of adventurer or warrior? I would call bringing beauty into the world and rendering that beauty in the form of clothes and capes to be far more respectable than that to which you have condemned your son.”

“I would have my son bear arms, though it put his body in the way of harm,” Hamilcar declared. “I was once a valiant soldier; until, curse it, my body grew older. I was renowned both brave and true, crossing me my foes would rue. Enemies would fear my fury, and in the field I won much glory. Glory and gold I wish for my son, his dreams will get him neither one! Begone, I have no more to say; except to add: now go away!”

Rarity clenched her jaw, but ultimately there was nothing to be done but leave as had been demanded of her. She couldn’t say and continue to argue with someone who had made it perfectly clear they didn’t want to hear it; she couldn’t force her presence on someone in their own home. She couldn’t… she couldn’t say anything more.

She felt a weight in her stomach as she, Applejack and Hannibal all trooped outside, and closed the creaking and ill-fitting door behind them.

“I’m sorry, darling,” she said. “I shouldn’t have lost my temper with your father, if I had… it’s just that when he started insulting you, I found that I… and denigrating our profession, too! Nevertheless, I should have kept a better rein upon my temper. I’m sorry.”

“Rarity, please, don’t blame yourself,” Hannibal urged. “Though your speech were kindness itself; I fear it would not move my father; he does not change his mind easily, rather; he only becomes more stubborn and fixed, and to his chosen ground he sticks. This was always going to be a waste of your time; you should focus upon your own problems, not mine.”

“Oh, no,” Rarity declared. “No, we’re not done yet. Not so long as you still need our help. Applejack and I said that we’d help you and we mean to do just that, don’t we, Applejack?”

Applejack nodded. “Ah’m sure that Rainbow and Pinkie Pie are doin’ just fine without us, ain’t no cause for us to rush off any place, not when we still got work to do here.” She grinned. “And if Ah know that glint in your eye, Rarity, you’re already cookin’ up an idea.”

“Well, now that you mention it,” Rarity murmured. “Hannibal, your father said that your ambitions were not a respectable living.”

Hannibal nodded. “That’s right, my father has long thought; that clothing could offer no support.”

“Utter nonsense, of course,” Rarity said. “Which is precisely what you and I are going to show him. We will go and buy fabrics, needle, thread, and everything else you need to realise your designs, which we will then sell for more money than I think your father will have seen in quite some time. We will prove to him, beyond all doubt, that there is a respectable living to be made from fashion and clothing, and one that is both far more respectable and a better living than there is to be made from fruitlessly posing as something you’re not.”

Hannibal’s eyes widened. “You would spend of your own wealth, to advance my fortunes’ health?”

Rarity laughed nervously. “Well, it isn’t exactly our own wealth, but I’m sure that she won’t mind. Ahem.” She decided not to mention Lady Sophoniba by name, in case it worried Hannibal. “But what do you say? Does that sound like a plan?”

“That sounds like a most excellent plan,” Hannibal said. “Rarity, you make me quite a fan!”

Rarity covered her mouth with one hoof as she laughed. “Oh, it’s nothing, darling, nothing at all. All in a day’s work.”

And so they went, not to the market from which Hannibal had been laughed out earlier, but to Utica’s bazaar. It was an enclosed building, an indoor market with a high vaulted ceiling and walls, where they could be seen at all, adorned with paintings of zebras and abraxans carrying out their day to day lives around the commerce of the bazaar itself: sewing and reaping the grain that would be sold here, moulding the clay into pots and firing them in the great ovens, baking the bread, collecting the honey, weaving the cloth, picking the fruit, and all of it being brought either individually or upon great carts into this bazaar, where more paintings upon the walls depicted the buying and selling of the goods, the equitable exchanges, the merchants drinking together contentedly after a hard day’s work.

These paintings on the wall, stylistically impressive as they were, could scarcely be seen because they were concealed behind the stalls that lined the walls of the bazaar, selling all the things that were painted upon the walls and more. Grown zebras hawked their wares, their cries echoing off the painted walls; fillies and foals ran back and forth on small errands. The lanes of the labyrinthine structure were crowded with zebras looking to purchase all that was on display here.

All that was on display included, fortunately, all that Rarity and Hannibal required. In the bazaar, where the sunlight shone in through windows set high in the ceiling, descending in columns of light down from the heavens, they found and purchased needle and thread, fabrics in many radiant colours, feathers of many beautiful birds, all that Hannibal needed and required. And there, in the corner of the bazaar, fortified by cups of coffee, which the zebras brewed strong and rich, with even the mere smell of it enough to banish drowsiness, they got to work.

Rarity found it hard to control her creativity. With these colours, with these fabrics, with these accessories and accoutrements she would have done this, and that, and maybe that as well. But it was not her career that they were building here, this wasn’t about her, but about Hannibal, his future, his dreams, his success. Hannibal was the one who had to be able to keep this enterprise going once Rarity was gone. Rarity was just… helping him take that first step.

And so, while she was always happy to contribute some advice to a novice, although she was willing to point out something where she thought that Hannibal could improve things, Rarity mainly restricted her assistance to the actual production side, working to Hannibal’s ideas and helping him get them turned around quickly. Hannibal had vision, that was clear, he had a sense of what he wanted to create, he could look at fabrics and feathers and the like and perceive an outfit out of them just as a sculptor could look at a block of stone and perceive the statue within. He had the artistic ingredients of a fashionista, of that Rarity had no doubt. What he did not have was the experience necessary to produce his vision quickly. That would come with time and practice, but not for now he had Rarity’s help in place of either, and her horn flared brilliant blue, as blue as any diamond, her finely-hone telekinesis threading the needle through the fabric just so, stitching it up like so, sewing on the feathers just as requested, and more importantly doing it quickly. They had little time to waste, after all.

Only a few hours had passed, and they had several capes to sell that were not only functional, but rather beautiful too, if Rarity said so herself. They were bright, and seemed brighter for the way in which they were adorned with feathers, some on the hem and some at the collar and some at both. Some capes were completely covered with feathers, so that it might appear that they were made completely of the feathers of a parakeet, rather than mere fine cloth with the feathers sewn on. Rarity would have used gems, but Hannibal didn’t care for them and Rarity respected his artistic vision enough not to interfere. Besides feathers, Hannibal preferred cloth of gold or silver for adornment, lining the hems that were not feathered with them, or using them to form swirling patterns which might mean something to a quaggai zebra stitched onto the back of this cape or that. Some of them had high collars, some had collars turned down but cut from a different cloth, there was a great variety on display, especially for a beginner. It was clear that Hannibal had been holding these ideas in his head for quite some time, and they had just been waiting to burst forth in a great flood of creativity when the opportunity presented itself.

And now it had.

Applejack had been very patient while Rarity and Hannibal had been hard at work, trying very hard to hide the boredom that she must have been feeling, confining it to a little pacing about, and never for very long. Now, with their work done, she patiently followed the two of them as they sought out the master of the market, a rotund zebra who clearly did well out of deciding who was allowed to set out their stall in the bazaar, and – with almost the last of the money that Sophoniba had given them – rented out the last available space in the bazaar, a smallish stall sandwiched between a zebra selling oranges and an abraxas selling fine glassware brought all the way from Equestria.

Rarity’s gaze lingered upon the exquisitely crafted glass bowls and jars, the little reminders of home sparkling in the light of the sun that was falling almost directly down upon them. A smile, slightly sad, cross her fair alabaster features, before she turned away and back to her task of helping Hannibal set out his radiant raiment on display.

There was not enough room to arrange everything the way she would have liked at Carousel Boutique, but at least they were able to place things so at least some of the garments were visible.

And with that, they had done all that they could do.

“It’s all up to you now, darling,” Rarity said. “Get out there and sell your genius!”

Hannibal swallowed. “Why should I not be greeted with laughter? Trying to sell myself leads to disaster. Surely once more I’ll be mocked and derided, about me their minds are already decided.”

“You were mocked for pretending to be something you’re not,” Rarity reminded him. “This is something that you are.” She smiled encouragingly, and reached out to take his forehoof in hers. “You have so many wonderful ideas to show the world, Hannibal, but you need to show the world. Hiding it behind a market stall isn’t enough. If you want to be a fashionista, then you must be a salescreature as well as a designer… at least until you do well enough to hire someone to take care of this for you. I’m afraid you’re not quite there yet.” The smile remained upon her face. “But it doesn’t matter because you can do this. I believe in you. Now get out there and show Utica who you really are!”

Hannibal looked into Rarity’s eyes. He took a deep breath, and then another. “Rarity, I wish to say, no matter if I succeed this day; these hours with you have been the best, better than all my life the rest; thanks to you I’ve had such fun, done things I never would have done; you’ve granted me a pair of wings, and freed me from my father’s strings; I’ll not forget it till I did, now I must spread my wings – and fly!”

And with that, his head held high, Hannibal leapt up onto the market stall and raised his voice to echo off the painted walls of the bazaar.

His voice trembled a little, but overall he did a good job of keeping it loud as he cried out, “Good folk, and gentle creatures all; if you seek garments, find them at my stall! To Utica I bring these fine raiments, the best coin you’ll ever have spent! I made these garments with my own horn, they’re fair to look on and comfortable to be worn!”

A few zebras and abraxas had stopped, pausing in their progress through the bazaar to harken to Hannibal’s words, but from out of the crowd a voice cried out, “Pay no attention to this liar, I would not trust him if he shouted ‘fire’! That is Hannibal, Hamilcar’s son, no greater deceiver than this one.”

“Liar, you say, liar you call; have you no eyes to see at all?” Hannibal demanded, grabbing one of his cloaks and sweeping it up onto his back. “Deny you what your eyes can see, just because you can see me?”

“I hear you too, and have heard you before,” the voice from out of the crowd retorted. “When you claimed to be master of war!”

“That was a folly on my part,” Hannibal acknowledged. “Though one that went against my heart. I never meant to do any harm, merely my father’s hearth to warm. But I am done with such pretending, here I am before you standing; I am myself you see before thee: Hannibal, telling his own story. I am no mercenary nor warrior; so calm yourself, considerate worrier. I practice nought but fashion now; fear you I deceive still then answer ‘how’? I offer nothing but you can see, these garments made laboriously. All that I sell presently exists, so let your mockery desist; see with your eyes, feel with your hoof; my quality I’ll gladly prove. I have a gift I’ll gladly share, to help you impress stallion or mare. Come come, and see it for yourself; there is much on the proverbial shelf.”

His critic did not respond, and Hannibal’s impassioned performance had already drawn a larger crowd, murmuring and muttering to itself as they pressed closer to the rented stall, the eyes of all these zebras fixed upon Hannibal himself.

Hannibal swallowed, and though Rarity saw his legs tremble she also saw that he was able to keep going, to keep speaking even through the wobble of his voice. “Fine fabrics, fine feathers; capes suitable for all the weathers. Buy now, and you will not regret; my prices will not lead to debt. Every cost is reasonable, so take a look it is no trouble.”

The crowd was not silent, but it was still. Zebras and abraxas muttered but did not buy, they spoke to one another but not to Hannibal. Rarity felt as though she were watching a coin teeter, and could only watch to see whether it would land upon one side or the other.

And then, a voice from the crowd declared. “I will take the canary yellow, it’s very bright and nothing mellow.”

And just like that the floodgates were opened. Hooves were raised, gold coins were produced, and desires were cried out loudly, drowning out one another so that Hannibal had to call for calm and quiet in order to hear what people wanted.

And his capes flew from behind the stall, the golden coins piled up in return, and when there were no more capes there was still a sizeable pile of gold coins – and a few unhappy zebras, who were only mollified when Hannibal promised to be back tomorrow with more stock.

As those would-be but left-behind customers departed, Hannibal stared at the pile of gold in front of him. “Such riches I have never seen, and to think this morning I had not a bean,” he murmured. He looked at Rarity, and Applejack. “I could not have done this without your help; please, take your share of my newfound wealth.”

“Oh no,” Rarity declared, holding up one hoof to forestall any more of that. “All of this you earned, through your own efforts, you own ideas. All I did was just give you a little bit of a push. And besides, you need that money to take care of your father – and to buy materials to make new clothes for all those zebras you’ve promised to cater too tomorrow.”

Hannibal laughed nervously. “Tomorrow and my father, yes; I hope that it will come to pass. What if my father still does not see? What if he is angry with me? Will come again to my father’s house? I fear he will think me a louse?”

“Sure we will,” Applejack said.

“We said that we’d help you, and help you we shall,” Rarity agreed.

They bagged up the money, but not before paying the master of the market to rent the same space at the bazaar again tomorrow. And, because if Hannibal had earned anything he had surely earned this, a little more was spent upon a new peacock feather for his hat, and a sash of cloth of gold to adorn his chest, as it had always been meant to do.

He looked a fine figure as he led them down the street, with his cape mended – but not adorned with feathers, they had been needed for the commercial products – and looking as good as new; he looked, indeed, rather more dashing as a successful fashionista than he ever had as a would-be mercenary.

A prosperous zebra about the town, Rarity thought. Yes, I think he’ll be just fine.

“You got a smile on your face,” Applejack pointed out.

Rarity let out a soft little chuckle. “It’s completely unearned, darling, but… I confess I feel rather proud of him.”

Applejack snorted. “The way Ah see it there ain’t nothin’ ‘unearned’ about it; you heard him, he never would have done none of this without your help.”

“I just gave him a little push and an investment,” Rarity replied.

“Sometimes a little push is all it takes,” Applejack reminded her. “And an investment ain’t nothin’ neither. Sometimes, we all need a friend willin’ to help out when needed. That’s why we’re all lucky we got you.”

“Oh, Applejack!” Rarity cried. “You’re going to make me blush!”

Now it was Applejack’s turn to have the smile on her face, and it remained there until they arrived back at Hannibal’s house. Suddenly, the young zebra seemed a rather ill-fitting presence there, his mended garments and fresh feather, the completion of his look marking him out as a visitation to this house that was slowly becoming derelict, as if he no longer belonged in his own home.

Fortunately, if he kept up his success of today he would soon be able to afford to fix up all these issues.

Once more, Hannibal opened the creaking door and led the way inside.

Once more, Hamilcar was sitting on the floor, and glared at them as they entered. “What are those two doing here? I do not wish to have them near! Go, begone, get you hence, to the place you came from whence.”

Hannibal did not reply, but deposited the bag of gold coins in front of his father.

Hamilcar regarded the gold curiously, his watery eyes widening as he opened the bag enough to reveal its contents. “How is it you acquired this gold, in such great store and very cold?”

“Father, I earned it with my dreams, which are within my reach and means,” Hannibal declared. “I sold garments in the bazaar, and the profits before you are.” He swallowed. “Father, this is what I want; and no more will you say I can’t. To make and sell clothes is my passion, my calling is not war but fashion. And with my skills I’ll make such gold that nevermore will you be cold. The fires will burn, our house I’ll mend; the profits of my work on you I’ll spend. Upon your comfort and security, I’ll lavish the wages of my vanity.”

Hamilcar was silent for a moment. “You… you made this much, all this is yours? You made all this in these scant hours? I never…” He scowled, and pushed the gold away. “I will not have it, no indeed; for all these ponies your follies feed. You will not taint me with such shame, but redeem the honour of my name-“

“The honour of your name?” Rarity repeated. “Is that what this is all about?”

“I do not know what you suggest,” Hamilcar declared. “Nor do I wish you as my guest.”

Rarity ignored the invitation to be gone. “I thought that if Hannibal proved that he could make a living in fashion then you might relent, but it was never really that, was it? If you had been primarily concerned with a good living then you would have allowed your son to follow his dreams, or at least turned him away from a path he was obviously not suited for, but that’s not why, is it? This is about you! You won’t let Hannibal pursue his dreams because he has to pursue yours? You want him to be the warrior that you couldn’t be!”

Hamilcar scowled. “I was a warrior proud and fierce, many fell to my swift spears; great are the glories that I won-“

“And yet I can’t see a single one,” Rarity replied archly, completing the rhyme even as she interrupted him. “You boast and brag as much as your son did when he was lying about his martial prowess; you claim to have been a great and glorious warrior but it evidently didn’t bring you any security, and for that matter I can’t see much sign of any glory, either.”

“You are behaving like a louse! I command you, leave my house!”

“Why should Hannibal throw away his own wants and desires just to spend his life in a futile effort to fulfil yours?” Rarity demanded.

“Because I disgraced myself, and soiled my name,” Hamilcar cried. “And could not clean it up again! All my glories ceased to glimmer… when I abandoned Sunset Shimmer.”

“Sunset Shimmer?” Rarity gasped. “Did you say Sunset Shimmer?”

Hamilcar looked at her. “You know the name, of she who is source of my shame?”

“We do indeed,” Rarity said. “She was Princess Celestia’s student once, and came seeking the Heart of the World. You are one of those who went with her when she departed this place?”

“I was indeed, till I was not,” Hamilcar muttered. “A fact that I have never forgot.”

“Did another unicorn named Dawn Starfall talk to you?” Applejack asked. “We know that she came lookin’ for news of Sunset Shimmer.”

Hamilcar shook his head. “I know no pony by that name, you are the first to hear my shame. I’ve never before spoke it allowed, though it has followed me like a cloud.”

“But it need not follow your son,” Rarity declared. “Whatever happened between you and Sunset Shimmer, Hannibal has no part in it. He can no more redeem your name than he can be made guilty by it.”

“Assumin’ you really have anythin’ to be sorry about,” Applejack added.

“Sunset Shimmer pursued her dream, no matter the cost,” Rarity said. “You did not go with her all the way on that journey, but you can still go with your son on his journey, to pursue his dream… even if it is not the dream you wished for him.”

Hamilcar hesitated for a moment. “You shine a light through my dark cloud, the truth it echoes clear and loud. My son, I am truly sorry; please forgive a father’s folly. Go forth, and pursue your own dream; let your talents by all be seen.”

Hannibal looked at Rarity gratefully. “Father, I know not what to say; this is truly a wondrous day!”

“For us too,” Applejack observed. “Fancy that us decidin’ to help you out would lead us to someone we were lookin’ for.”

“We are friends of Twilight Sparkle,” Rarity explained. “Like Sunset Shimmer, a student of Princess Celestia. We seek what news of Sunset we can find – and of the other pony, Dawn Starfall – and, just as importantly, Twilight also seeks the Heart of the World, anything you can tell us about your journey in search of it will be invaluable. So, please, will you come with us to Lady Sophoniba’s palace, and tell us all that you recall of Sunset Shimmer?”