Author's Note
(This is the fifth piece of super garbage that I wrote to amuse myself.)
Not much to say about this one. Hopefully the part of the story that’s not being told by the title and summary makes it worth reading.
The Horn in the Stone
IF YOU INTEND TO CHALLENGE THE MOUNTAIN, PLEASE
LEAVE A RECORD FOR THOSE YOU MAY LEAVE BEHIND. ➡
"Makes sense," Crux thought, after reading the sign. "It's probably not easy to recover the deceased."
Looking up at the deadly mountain in question, and seeing the eternal whirlwind whipping snow to and fro about the mountaintop, his thoughts turned to what brought him there, to what could potentially be his final destination.
Simply put: he wanted a cutie mark.
He'd long since tried to get one for mundane and common things, then for more uncommon, difficult and dangerous ones. With each failure he had been forced to look harder, travel farther, and seriously consider the more extreme and crazy end of the spectrum for cutie marks. Anything to attain a life where no one would stare at him, whisper among themselves, look down on him, treat him like an invalid, assume things about him...
But he was old, now; over the hill. Tired. Injuries from past accidents and misadventures were catching up to him. There wasn't much waiting for him back home, considering how much of his life he had spent away, even against his parents' wishes. There wasn't much that he hadn't sacrificed in his pursuit for a cutie mark, really. If he didn't get a cutie mark from reaching the mountain's summit, or failed to reach it...
With a shake of his head, he turned his attention to the nearby hut that the sign was pointing toward. It was small, round, with a coned, thatched roof. It had clearly seen better days, which was no surprise considering how the road leading to it now barely qualified as an animal trail. If not for one of the nearby villages, he wouldn't have even known what side of the mountain to find it on.
Thinking that there might be somepony out there who would want to know what happened to him, should he meet an untimely end, he entered the hut. The inside was a simple affair, with a long desk that divided the room and covered most of the distance between the walls, leaving just enough room for the pony behind the desk to walk around it. Said pony, an old, unicorn stallion, was asleep, whose head hung over the back of the chair he sat in.
Seeing a gavel on the desk, and a plaque nearby that said, "Strike desk for service," he picked up the gavel and used it as instructed. The pony behind the desk jolted awake, then peered at him groggily while he smacked his lips. Before saying anything, he proceeded to look around his chair until he found what he was looking for: a pair of glasses. Using his horn, he lifted them from the floor and put them on.
Now that he appeared ready to do his job, he picked up a register, followed by a pencil, then regarded him again as he dispassionately asked, "Name?"
"Crux," he supplied.
"Cutie mark?" The clerk prompted, after adding the name to the register.
"Don't have one," came the terse reply.
The clerk gave him a look, as if to ask, "Do you think I was born yesterday," so he grunted his displeasure, turned aside, then reached beyond his saddle bags to pull back his cargo shorts, until his flank was completely unveiled. The clerk leaned forward to get a look at it, then adjusted his glasses and squinted to get a better look, before his brow furrowed with confusion and disbelief. Pulling back, he muttered something in his native tongue as he jotted something down in the register.
"Is that all?" He asked, as he pulled his shorts back into place.
Upon receiving confirmation, he promptly turned away from the clerk and walked out of the hut, missing when the register began to light up with a short series of soft pulses. He paused outside and took a deep breath before turning his head to look up at the mountain, now that there was no longer anything in the way to its peak than the climb itself. Doubt began to claw its way to the forefront of his mind then, but he shook his head, set his jaw and stared at his goal with determination.
Before moving toward said goal, he reached into his saddle bags and took out the gear that he would need to protect himself from the cold. Ordinarily a pony's innate magic gave them a decent amount of resistance, even against wind chill, but all magic was negated around Matterhorn. That also meant that he wouldn't be able to enhance his strength, but he wasn't too worried about that because muscle was something that he had in abundance. Which would have to be enough, because flying to the top was impossible because of the whirlwind, which — according to many past accounts — could blow the fastest pegasus away even if they approached at the best angle.
Once he had his jacket, boots and knit cap on, he began the climb. He expected a challenge, and encountered it immediately, but he had enough experience from many past endeavors and adventures to overcome them without too much trouble. It would have been easier if there had been a known route to traverse, but no map could be made because those who had come back alive had reported a configuration of the mountain's shape that contradicted the experience of past climbers. The challenge ramped up when he reached the snow line, especially when the wind began to buffet him constantly, but he was able to overcome it and find a safe haven before sundown, where he could rest until morning and be ready for the next leg of the climb.
The next day, after breakfast and limbering up, he continued his journey to the summit, which gradually became more difficult to accomplish. He didn't let that discourage him, though, even when he was stymied: because whenever things got really rough or tough, he turned his thoughts back to all of the things that he had done for the sake of obtaining his cutie mark, no matter how hard or dangerous they were, and that gave him the strength and resolve to advance farther.
When he reached the summit, he was too exhausted to notice at first, much less to celebrate it; upon seeing that he had enough space to collapse and rest, that's exactly what he did. It took him a minute to even notice how utterly quiet and still his new environment was. When he did, though, he forced himself to raise his head and look around, which was when he discovered where he was.
He hadn't known what to expect, but the summit was a bit underwhelming. Maybe that had something to do with the lack of cold, wind, snow, and the absence of any sound that didn't originate from himself, but he had been hoping for something grander than a stone with a long unicorn horn impaling it from the top, had there been anything at all. It was curious, sure, particularly because there was writing on the stone that he couldn't even begin to fathom the meaning of, but it wasn't exactly a priceless treasure or a part of lost history, as far as he could tell — for all he knew, he was looking at someone's grave, or a memorial.
Feeling that he had recovered enough for the task of checking his flank, despite his limbs having the shakes from all of the abuse they had been put through, he reached for the waist of his shorts and pushed it down. When he saw that his flank was still blank, he just stared, devoid of feeling. Apparently, he wasn't the type to cry in this type of situation, or laugh, or laugh and cry, or become enraged, or... anything.
Eventually, he laid back down and closed his eyes, resigned to what appeared to be his fate. He figured he could rest there until dawn, then climb down the mountain and... reconnect with his family? Try and settle down? Was there even a mare out there that was looking for a stallion who wanted to retire, effectively? With his lack of charm, could he even hope to attract one with his homely mug? He didn't have much money to his name, either.
Opening an eye, he peered at the horn, and the stone it was stuck in. After a moment, he rose to his hooves with no small amount of struggle, then trudged over to it with a feeling of detachment. Maybe he'd become haunted if he pulled the horn out, cursed or worse, but he just wasn't in a mood to care. After everything that he had gone through in his pursuit for a cutie mark, which now included surmounting a seemingly-unconquerable mountain, he wanted to come away with something to show for it, consequences be damned.
However, when he tried to yank the horn out, it didn't budge. Confused about how that could be possible, if the horn was straight and tapered, he tried again. He went at it much longer than his first attempt, and tried to shake the horn loose a few times in the process, but he still failed to pull it out. All he ended up accomplishing was exhausting himself again, to the point where he could no longer maintain his grip on the horn and had to catch himself on the stone. In light of both his fatigue and failure, he bowed his head, so his forehead would be resting on top of the horn.
With a sigh, he made to back up and return to relaxing, but was surprised when he was halted by his head. Knowing where the resistance had come from, he looked up at where the horn connected with his forehead and tried to move away again, which is when it became apparent that the horn had somehow become stuck to him. Even though he'd had no luck moving the horn before, he wasn't about to just give up and die without a fight, so he got into position before he pushed up with his forehooves and pulled back with his head.
Unexpectedly, the horn was pulled out of the stone without resistance. However, he didn't get any time to contemplate that, or the fact that the horn was still connected to his forehead, because his world flashed white before he lost consciousness.
The next time Crux became aware, he was looking up at the canopy of a bed. Brow furrowed with confusion, he raised his head and looked around. He found himself in a large bedroom, and he noticed that it was night beyond the balcony doors. His observation ended when he looked over at the fireplace that illuminated the room, however, because that's when he saw that he wasn't the only occupant of the room. Not only that, but because the aforementioned occupant was none other than Princess Celestia herself, who was reading beside the fireplace.
As if his gaze had alerted her that he was awake, she turned away from the book and graced him with a smile. "How are you feeling, Crux?"
Smiling nervously, he opted to stay put and not risk embarrassing himself in the process of getting out of bed and bowing to the princess. "I-I'm fine—" He was confused at the high-pitched sound of his voice, and pressed a hoof to his throat. "I think?"
"You're perfectly healthy," Celestia assured him, as she closed her book and set it down. "However, you have undergone a number of changes."
While Crux held out his forehooves and discovered that they — like his voice — had become quite feminine, Celestia stood up and approached the bed as she said, "The writing on the mount was quite old; old by the standards of the Equish I grew up with. But there were enough similarities for me to figure out that the one who withdrew the horn was intended to become the queen of all ponykind."
"What?" Came Crux's incredulous reply, as he switched his attention to her. "Queen?"
"Indeed," Celestia replied. She stopped by the bedside and lightly added, "Have you ever had aspirations to rule all of ponykind?"
Crux blinked his eyes, not knowing if she were being serious or not. "Uh... I just wanted a cutie mark."
Extending a forehoof to him, Celestia offered, "Would you like to see it?"
It took Crux a few seconds to realize what she meant, but his eyes widened when he did, and he forgot all decorum as he accepted her hoof and allowed her to help him get out of bed. He was so intent on seeing his cutie mark that he only absently noticed that he was taller than the princess while he followed her to a mirror.
Despite his intent, however, he still paused to look at his changed body. There were two things that he noticed right away, and pretty much summed up all of his changes: he was a head taller than Celestia, which was at least twice his original height, and he was definitely a mare. Ordinarily it would have felt rather strange to see himself standing beside the princess, but it was made even more so by the fact that he found himself just as attractive as her. Even his hair had the same ethereal quality to it.
After a mental shake of the head, he turned aside so he could see his flank in the mirror. He had imagined a countless number of cutie marks being on his flank over the years, yet he'd never imagined that it would bear the symbol for an atom, partly because he had discovered early on that he didn't excel in the sciences, failing in those endeavors in short order. What it meant for him to have it, especially since he had somehow become an alicorn in the process, was beyond him. The confusion and situation, unfortunately, severely undercut the joy that he had expected to feel at the moment of discovery.
Seeing the complex expression on his face, Celestia spoke up and said, "When I was a filly," Crux switched his attention to her, "while my sister and I were preparing to assume the responsibility of moving the sun and moon, we had come across an old legend that purported the existence of an alicorn who had moved the earth. This alicorn, the ruler of all ponykind, had abdicated the throne and entrusted their power to a pony worthy of possessing it. However, no pony was found worthy, so they fought over who would rule and eventually split along tribal lines."
"Are you saying that I inherited that alicorn's power?" Crux inquired, looking skeptical.
"Perhaps," Celestia allowed. "All I know, for certain, is that ponies didn't exist when the sun and moon came to be, so either someone or something else controlled them until ponies came into the picture, or there was no need to control them until that alicorn no longer rotated the planet and nopony could accomplish the same feat without their power."
Crux returned to looking at his reflection in the mirror, wondering if the alicorn that he had become was because of that alicorn in the legend. He certainly didn't look like himself: in addition to the changes already noted, he didn't even look related to himself or anypony else in his family. Had he not only inherited somepony's horn, but the body that had gone with it? He looked so different from himself that he wouldn't be surprised if anypony would recognize him even if he had maintained a close relationship with them.
His brow furrowed when that last thought made him realize something. "Wait," he said, as he regarded the princess, "how did you know who I was?"
"Mainly," Celestia answered evenly, "because when your name was written in the register, it also appeared in its companion, which is in my possession." Her expression turned more solemn. "However, I've known you for a very long time, because you were the one exception to an otherwise successful system."
Now concerned, Crux asked, "What do you mean? What system?"
"I'm only going to tell you this because I think you deserve to know," Celestia began, now sympathetic in addition to being serious, "so do no repeat what I'm about to say."
Crux nodded his head, anxious about what he was about to learn.
Celestia's expression softened. "A long time ago, it was determined that it would be more advantageous if ponies discovered their talents years before adulthood. So, I formed a secret agency of oracles who would foresee a foal's talents, and others who would arrange the circumstances for them to discover it if the natural course of discovery would occur around the time they became adults or later."
"However," she continued, looking sad, "no pony could divine your talent; not even me. More than being mystified by that, I felt guilty about how you were being affected by the expectation of earning a cutie mark before adulthood. So, I've been keeping an eye on you, and made sure that there would be ponies following you in secret, to save you from grave injury and death once you became more desperate."
Crux lowered his head and eyes as he digested that information and battled a storm of emotions. "...I see."
"I'll understand if you're upset with me," Celestia softly told him.
After a moment, Crux raised his head to meet her eyes and chuckled with little humor, having found the optimism that had kept him going for much of his life. "I'm not upset... at you. At fate, maybe. If I look at it in a certain way, I should be glad that there's no question that I earned my cutie mark, which not every pony can claim."
Celestia stepped up to him, placed a foreleg over his withers, then proceeded to give him a hug. "I also think you've earned a very long vacation. Time to relax, have fun, get accustomed to your new body, and hone your new abilities. Toward that end, I'll grant you access to several of my private and secret properties, and provide tutors. Which you can avail yourself of even after you learn how to disguise yourself, and are thus able to rejoin the public. How does that sound?"
Blushing at the familiar contact, Crux looked away and mumbled, "Sounds fine, I guess..."
Celestia gave him a reassuring squeeze. "Don't worry. I'll be there for you should you ever need me — or when you don't, if you'd like to have me as a friend."
"Really?" Crux responded, regarding her with disbelief.
"Sincerely," Celestia said, with a small smile. "Although not to the same extent as yourself, there is a great distance between myself and other ponies despite appearances. Only a few treat me as a pony and get to see who I really am."
Smiling bashfully, Crux decided, "Okay. Let's be friends..."