The Extraordinarily Ordinary
Clover the Clever was a unicorn. She was not blessed—if one were to glimpse past her remarkably healthy upbringing during the Long Cold—but really, truly, and justly, a unicorn.
Of late, her mentor felt inclined to introduce her as “Clover the Extraordinarily Ordinary.”
And she rather liked that title.
After a great many moons, the Three Tribes had found the flame in their hearts to band together against the oppressive cold and its masters, masters who had gone to great lengths to snuff out the world. With hindsight, the wisest of the tribes each swore to commit themselves to the drafting and establishment of a new order. This order was to be yelled from the greatest of peaks, across the highest winds, and from one glimmering sea to the next, by ponies with horns, wings, and none at all. No pony was to be excluded, and all were expected to relish its peace.
Equestria, its name.
In igniting the first flames that warmed Equestria, Clover herself had played a pivotal role. Briefly, she’d held great friends in great places, friends who were not a noble princess, or even ones with horns. And for a time, life had been grand.
Just as swiftly, Starswirl had found her.
The stallion had been, admittedly, a strange and aloof sort. But his devotion to magic and its practicalities appealed to her in far greater sums than trotting alongside the familiar fetlocks of aristocrats. Even if the seat of lord and ladyship was no longer restricted to unicorns, nobles were all the same. Clover had trotted the path of service as advisor to those of power, and she had no intentions of willingly doing so again. By the week’s end, Starswirl had accepted Clover onto his path, and she was grateful.
Unfortunately, she quickly found that Starswirl had been made an offer. And furthermore, he rather liked the tune of ‘Starswirl, High Mage of the Equestrian Council’.
“Fate is truly inescapable,” Clover murmured to herself.
Before her, Fillydelphia loomed.
In the distance, there was a pegasus. They were stood on the ground in a rainstorm of their own creation, apparently basking in the downpour. They bore a bright red cloak, and when their head was lifted just right as to be visible across the plains and grayed sky, their eyes then appeared as red as hot coals.
To the ground bound ponies on this side of the storm, it was a rather ominous sight.
“I see what you mean, elder,” Clover said to the pony by her side. She swept her gaze on the sky above the distant, lonesome figure. “When they arrived, they did not seek you or your kinsponies?”
“Not a moment spared!” replied the elder. The earth pony was striped in mud from the farmland around them, and their voice boomed with surprise. “When I had asked for help with bringing rain to the fields, I had prepared myself for conflict.”
“And I did as well,” added a unicorn flanking Clover’s other side. “But I must state once more—the team of pegasi who pledged to tend to these lands have yet to arrive. This one is, assuredly, a stranger.”
“Or a scout, like the Cloudsdale war parties,” the elder earth pony grumbled.
“Such war parties no longer exist, elder.” Clover turned to the two ponies. “Elder, noblemare, this pegasus has proven themselves capable of accomplishing a task you require. Have either of you made an attempt to speak with them?”
Both shook their heads.
“Why?”
“I... er...” The elder scuffed a hoof against the earth. “In truth, I had suspected... my lady,” he glanced to the noblemare, “to have sent this pegasus with great haste.”
The noblemare tsk’d through clenched lips, and held her head up and away. “I appreciate your trust in my abilities, but pegasi, even in this new... unified land, are unruly, and often inconsolable.”
Clover did not entirely disagree... “But there is no damage done, here?”
Now, the two leaders were a bit too shy to reply.
Clover sighed, shaking her head. “My counsel is this—in the event of strangers taking actions on your village’s land, seek them out, and speak with them. We are all ponies of Equestria. We are not enemies.”
“When you put it that way, the answer’s fairly obvious,” the elder sheepishly grumbled. He glanced past Clover. “Sorry to burden you, my liege.
“It’s quite alright.” The noblemare spared a smile to the elder before she turned back to Clover. “And I apologize for this unnecessary questing on your part.”
Clover smiled gently. “It’s no matter. I am here, now. Stay with your kinsponies and villagers. I will speak with this pegasus,” she said, eyes on the distant speck of red and blue. “And we shall consider the council’s role in this matter resolved.”
Well-acquainted with the process of greeting pegasi—one of the few lessons she gave thanks to House Platinum for—Clover flanked wide, moving from the earth ponies’ farmland, and instead coming to stand in the spread of plain in front of the pegasus.
Clover openly approached the blue pegasus. She did so with only her cloak’s cowl as a shield, and only against the raindrops. It wasn’t very hard rain at the moment, but a pond behind the pegasus was alive with the noise of rain crashing against reeds and water. Clover cleared her throat, and raised her voice.
“Good rains upon us, today!”
“Aye!” came the common pegasus yip.
Clover moved close before dipping into a quick bow. “I am Clover the Clever of the Equestrian Council. I have journeyed a great length to speak with you. It is imperative.”
“Very well, fair Clover.” While the pegasus stallion didn’t give a name, he at least offered a polite bow. “Please, a moment.”
It was then that Clover noticed the duckling.
It was a spry little thing, waddling to and fro to the reach rain. At least, it made great strides in its attempts. As it circled about, no raindrop ever came close to coming down against the duckling’s head: a wing above was assured protection. The pegasus craned his neck down and whispered something. With a chirpy quack, the duckling fled full-force for the nearby bulrush reeds. It dove into the green. Through the noisy prattle of rain, Clover heard a venerable choir of quacks rise up: ‘Welcome home’.
When Clover looked back to the pegasus, she caught his vibrant red eyes, as bright as his nature.
“My apologies, Clover,” the pegasus said.
With any notion of threat dissipated, Clover’s withers softened. “The farmers on these fields thank you for your clouds. But they admit your status as an interloper. From where do you hail, stranger?”
The stallion took a breath and folded his wings to his smooth cloak. “I was raised in Cloudsdale, but flew to live upon...” he paused. “The edge of nowhere,” he said, an odd, far-off twinkle to his eyes.
Clover tilted her head. “...Where?”
“Nowhere. It is a settlement.”
“Of pegasi?” she asked.
The pegasus shook his head. “Of ponies,” he finished.
Clover put a set of gentle tones to her voice. “It is my duty as a pony in service to the Equestrian Council to know of such unified places, and that is not a name I am familiar with. Have you heard of Equestria?”
“I have.”
“Are you aware of your place in Equestria, then?”
“I am merely a blue pegasus, born to Cloudsdale, and willingly displaced to the edge of Nowhere.”
Clover restrained herself with as kind a smile as she could. “Then I’m afraid you are mistaken. This is not... Nowhere. This is Fillydelphia. Did Nowhere exist before Fillydelphia?”
“It may have.”
And it took even more energy to keep herself from huffing. Clover abandoned her line of questioning. “Well, before you reached... Nowhere, no lone pegasus could have survived beyond a day’s flight of Cloudsdale. And in the time of the Warming, there were no reports of isolated pegasus enclaves, not in the same way the earth ponies fled the cold in large bands. Is it possible that you fled and mistook your new locale for another?”
“Fleeing from other ponies is not my nature. I have always been around. It is my calling.”
And just like that, Clover’s headway was gone. As she simmered, she even felt her teeth grinding on their own. She halted, breathed, and pulled her cloak close with her magic. To Clover, it seemed as if she hadn’t quite mastered the art of communicating with pegasi.
“Miss Clover,” the pegasus interrupted. His voice was soft and disarming. “I propose that I ask a question to answer you, lest you fall further to confusion.”
Curiosity won out over ire. Clover nodded. “Very well, it’s no trouble,” she said. She did her best to sharpen up, then gave the pegasus her utmost attention.
“Were I to tell you that I was a constant in the background of your life, would you believe me?”
Clover blinked. “Pardon?”
“As a fellow pony of the cloth,” he implored, giving his own ‘cloak’ a tug, “please, entertain a bout of theorizing with me.”
Her ears perked up, but Clover managed to shake them limp. “...Define ‘constant’.”
“Alive, and somewhere near. So, to reiterate: Were I to tell you that I was always alive and somewhere near, that I was always in the background of your life, would you believe me?”
The question, even when defined, was about as ridiculous as before. But Clover thought carefully before answering. “I would ask of your place during the Long Cold,” she answered.
The pegasus’ reply was instant. “In the grand castle of House Platinum, as a petitioner to the great houses.”
What? “...And?”
“At the monastery of Gemcrest, from where humble scholars were learned to read.”
“But pegasi...”
“And there again when all bore witness to the king as he was brought to eternal rest atop his mountain.”
Clover tapped her hoof sharply into the sodden earth. “Enough.”
The pegasus said nothing. He stared at her with patient eyes.
Another breath gave Clover back some resolve. “Stranger, you have only proven yourself to be well-read on the history of my tribe. It is impressive, but this ‘theorizing’ is senseless.”
The pegasus idly glanced back and flexed his wings. “Senseless, but true. You may not have felt it, but I did. Do you believe I speak falsehoods?”
Clover scoffed. “The situation is simply unfeasible. Especially for one of your upbringing, if you pardon my fixation on your... winged nature.” She bit down on the other words her brain offered: particularly, ‘unwell’.
“Do you have records to back up your claim?” he asked.
“Records? Records are not required to see the world as it is... and was! Especially a tale so blatantly impossible. I would have known of you in such environments. You cannot have traveled to so such places of significance without being seen, not without...” Clover stopped when she glanced up. A frown crept forward.
The stallion was smiling. “I am not a fast pony,” he offered.
Clover’s frown deepened. “Even if you were, a pegasus has their limits. To physically displace oneself such distances in short order would require untold feats of magic. Now, perhaps if you were my mentor, the great mage Starswirl, but he is—”
“The High Mage of the Equestrian Council?” Now, the pegasus stood straighter. He nodded as if this was an everyday exchange. And then, he continued.
And he spoke as swift as the wind.
“Oh, yes, I’m certain he’s quite fastidious with his intricate teleportation matrixes. But he is far from the most learned a pony can be. ‘Untold feats of magic’? Yes, it would take several generations of ponies to develop such spells. Equestria has not quite had the chance. After all, we’re but moons old, and there is much archiving to be done of the greater tribes’ history. More than we could possibly know in a lifetime.” He paused as if to think, then leaned forward. “It’s a boon to us, then, that we are no longer alone in this task.”
Clover’s jaw worked wordlessly for a moment. Then, just as quick as the pegasus’ words had come, Clover had to lean back: the pegasus was laughing.
But he stopped and hardened so quick that it made Clover’s heart skip.
“I am but a scholar. You, too, are a scholar. But, respectfully, one who blindly seeks mageship.”
Those few words stung sharp against Clover, and she couldn’t help herself. “Excuse me?” she said with burning words.
Wordlessly, the pegasus turned away.
After shaking a bit of rain from her cloak, Clover found herself following.
Curiosity won out over ire.
The pegasus did not lead Clover very far. They traveled past the reeds of the pond, trotting along the edge of the rippling waters. A family of ducks—including the pegasus’ previously guarded duckling—swam through the more reed-filled parts of the water. The ducks paid the two ponies no mind. Clover and the pegasus came to a halt, side-by-side. The pegasus stood still, his eyes across the calm pond, but Clover could only stare at him.
“There is less rain over here,” the pegasus said.
Clover blinked. “Oh.” She held a hoof out, and glanced upward. Few droplets landed. “Thank you.”
“My name is Silver.”
The strange timing of the introduction forced Clover to pause and re-evaluate the moment. “And I am Clover,” she said, plenty aware that this was a reintroduction.
“Well met, Clover the Clever.”
Clover supposed she should feel some sort of upset at the pegasus’ aloof behavior. And yet, what good would animosity do for her? No good at all, she decided.
“Silver, about your words... I suppose crafting storms is akin to mageship. Did you conjure this storm?” As Clover spoke, she found her focus drifting to the pegasus’ cloak. She found it odd that he had not pulled the cowl of his cloak over himself during the rain. But Clover had always found pegasi—and really, the other tribes—strange. It was likely just ‘one of those things’.
“Yes,” Silver replied. His ears twitched. “Does something of my appearance bother you?”
“Oh, no.” Clover’s ears folded back. “I apologize for staring. I was simply wondering—you do not wear your cowl. Does the rain not bother you?”
“No. In Nowhere, I am a weatherpony. Rain is merely rain.” Upon seeing her confusion, Silver added, “Or, in a term you are more familiar with, I am a cloudformer.”
“Is ‘weatherpony’ a new term of your tribe?”
“Of sorts. Our lexicon may differ, for we were reared in wholly different environments.”
“How could this be?” Clover’s tone was filled with that of pure, unadulterated curiosity. “You know of the monastery and the mountainous home of unicorn kings past. And you speak so well! As if you yourself were a scholar in the great libraries.”
“I don’t really have to speak that way,” Silver said in a much more casual tone. “Like, not at all.” A dramatically more casual tone. “I can appear to you in whatever way you feel comfortable. It’s just who I am.”
The tone was so swift a change that just hearing it made Clover shiver. “Is... is that most comfortable to you?”
“Maybe.” Silver shrugged. “To somepony, it is.” Even the way he moved his withers had changed.
Clover had to take a moment to digest the change. “You act as a wholly separate pony. As if you represent several.”
Silver smiled, and to Clover’s surprise, nodded. “I do, in truth, speak on the part of several.” Thankfully, his voice had returned to a more scholarly luster.
“I’m afraid I don’t understand. Of several?” Clover glanced around. “Have several of you come to Fillydelphia?”
“I was always here.”
“Ah.” Clover’s tone soured. “You mean to refer to your... ‘theorizing’.”
Silver sat down, his haunches fully settling against the ground. “Here before you, I’m only one pegasus. But there are many like me. We’re not all pegasi, but we are all ponies. But why, of all beings that could be, am I here? Well...” His gaze shifted past the pond, out toward the Fillydelphia farmland. “This façade brought you to me, and that is all that matters.”
Clover spoke quietly. “I don’t know what you’re showing me.”
“But you do. You’ve felt it.” Silver’s ears twitched in the wind. “Your mentor, Starswirl, is obsessed with magic. And with your recent apprenticeship, your wish is to understand magic just as much as he does, and together, journey with him to uncover knowledge as of yet unknown. To his credit, and yours, you wish to serve Equestria and ponydom. But the greatest, most harmonious Equestria shan’t be formed with a unicorn’s magic alone. And that is not your goal, nor that of others. Already, many of the ponies in this newly freed land are forming bonds that will stand the test of time. This world will heal from the frigid unkindness of the previous age, and we can only do so together. Were we to hold this meeting in the previous age, it would be impossible for us to converse in peaceful turns. The land has changed, and Equestria its name.”
“But at the same time, you are still a unicorn,” Silver finished, and the words hung dense in the air.
Clover waited for a moment, but Silver did not continue.
“Healing? What do you speak of?” Clover asked again, her desperation breaking through. “And yes, of course I am still a unicorn...”
“And I am a pegasus.” Silver did not rise, but his voice did. “And the ponies who farm this land are just as they are—earth ponies. In spite of all our differences, we are united. Do you believe this?”
Clover paused. “I do. It isn’t my intent to judge, if that is your implication.” Clover’s ears collapsed. She had to sigh. “The tribes are... so curious. Our differences call forth both interest and upset to me. I... I suppose it is difficult to heal that which we don’t understand. Just as so, it is hard for me to bond with a tribe that I wish to fully understand, first. To help both pegasus and earth ponies heal alongside my tribe in this new, freed world.”
“And yet, you still see it as a unicorn’s duty to perform magic for the good of Equestria.”
“...No. No, I do not.”
Silver peeked at Clover. His eyes carried their own curiosity. “No?” he asked. “Why not?”
“I... well. I used to. But it’s just how I was learned!” Clover slumped to a seat beside Silver. A shaky breath wove through her. “When I... during the Warming. I was there. I was one of the ponies in the cave, one of the ones who helped create the Flame. The one who channeled it. The others... they were my friends. So briefly, so very briefly. And the Flame and that moment, and the days that followed... they were the most magical my life truly felt. The moments in which I felt I had the most purpose. And in the moon since, I have tried so very hard to find it again. That is why when Starswirl found me, I was so grateful to accept his offer of apprenticeship. To study magic under a great mage’s hoof, but not to blindly follow them, but to maybe, hopefully, rediscover and archive the magic I felt, then.”
“I long for that magic more than anything just being a unicorn could offer.”
In the eternity of the downpour, silence filled the gap between Clover and Silver. As strangers, neither could be certain of the other’s thoughts, but the warmth was unmistakable. Silver sat with a pleasant smile, watching ducklings. Clover—while trapped in her own thoughts, now—felt her heart steadier than it’d ever been.
“This is what makes you special, Clover.” Silver breathed an even breath. “Starswirl appreciates your insights, because as a classically trained unicorn, he has not experienced the magic that you have. Starswirl is great in his own right, but it is for his magehood, rather than his experiences. The magic you seek is considered rather mundane in the eyes of most unicorns—there are no spectacular, visibly effective spells associated with it, only concepts and theories—but that is when it is scrutinized without a bond of one’s own. You have felt this bond.”
“Alone, ponies lose sight of this magic. It isn’t simple to grasp onto, but the moment it’s gone, it’s felt. This is why ponies like me exist. Because together, we remember. We see. Together, we can rekindle the magic of friendship shortly lost, quickly found.”
“Friendship? Is it really so simple?”
“It is, Clover. But so beautiful.”
“...It is the most wonderful magic ponies have known.”
“And we cannot forget it. We cannot lose sight of it.”
“But... what makes it so special, now?” Clover sat up. “I had friends during my foalhood.”
“But you did not complete each other in the same way that Pansy and Cookie did.”
“No... no they didn’t. You’re right.” She paused, feeling strangely shy. “My friends at the monastery were much more close to... peers. Friends, yes, but... I can’t say we felt as connected as those in that cave. There is a significance to the magic in that.”
“Yes. You and your foalhood ‘peers’ shared the same band in a greater harmony. One tribe. It is when the tribes stand together that the strength of this magic is most felt. It is together that we complete each other. It is together that we then understand what it means to be a pony. To be a part of a greater herd. A grand collective. But all the while, we retain the uniqueness inherent to our separate tribes. To ourselves.”
“Is that what you are, then? A member of this collective magic, given your voice?”
Silver only smiled.
“But... what makes me different from my friends? From Pansy and Cookie? Is tribalism so natural to magic?”
“Tribalism is but blind hate, a misconstruction antithetical to the magic of friendship. You are a unicorn. Fundamentally, a unicorn can cast spells that a pegasus and earth pony cannot, much like how the other tribes yield their own strengths. With unicorns, there are spells that can make the unseen, seen.” Still sat beside her, Silver made a motion that Clover couldn’t quite discern. “And often, what you see is only what you allow yourself to see.”
Clover had to peek at what the pegasus was doing.
The red cloak Silver had been wearing had turned brown and shed its smooth texture. Now, it shared its likeness with Clover’s own cloak and cowl. And he had pulled it over his head.
The stallion met her wide eyes, still smiling. Questions swam up Clover’s throat in a blink.
And in that blink, the pegasus was gone.
“No!” Clover stood suddenly. She stomped hard. “Don’t leave me! Not now!” Harder.
Ducks quacked. Rain poured. None answered.
“You were real!” Clover swept around in a circle, spinning, tears brimming at her eyes. “You were here! You understood! You knew!” She crashed down at the pond’s edge, legs wobbling. Like the village elder, mud striped up Clover’s forelegs. “No...”
“Clover.”
The scholar swung her neck hard.
Silver was there.
He laid down beside her, voice soft. “You are not alone. Even when you cannot see them, you have never been alone.”
Then, there were hoofsteps.
Dozens. Hundreds. Thousands.
Clover watched as a sea of ponies descended upon where she lay. They were of all sizes and kinds. Some wore crowns. Some bore armor. Others wore rags. And many, many more wore nothing at all, content to appear as they were. There were earth ponies, pegasi, and unicorns. There were even ponies who she had no names for—she eyed wings of leather, scaled hooves, horns, all levels of strangeness.
When she found her vision watering, she returned her gaze to Silver.
And in the warmth of his eyes, she felt safe.
“Safe around a pegasus...” Clover whispered tightly. “What would father think?”
“He would be proud that you do not let the past hinder you, and instead allow yourself to learn from the future.” Silver shifted in place, but only grew closer. “Across all ages of ponydom, unseen ponies bear untold stories.” His eyes stayed glued to Clover. “But the stories exist. And many hold the stories of the strangers they see. And across them, the magic is the same. They bear stories of friendship and its magic. A magic that will keep magic itself alive, whether ponies notice, or not.”
Behind him, the sea of ponies turned away. Hooves thundered in the rain as the collective disappeared into the gray day.
“Where are they going?”
“They’ll be around, Clover,” Silver said. “Just as you have seen.”
Blink by blink, the visions fled, leaving Clover with Silver, and the profound sensation of knowing. Except for one thing.
“If not through perfected mageship, then how should I approach this magic?” Clover pointed her ears to Silver expectantly. “Should I not follow in Starswirl’s hoofsteps?”
“On the path to greatness? Yes, but not quite.”
“Please, explain this to me.”
Silver nodded. “There is no need for one of your station to feel tied to fate. Unlike your counterparts, you tread freely. Starswirl is well on his path, and it is certain that there will be little room for recourse. But this is what he wants.” Silver’s hoof played along soaked grass blades, flicking drops among the greenery. “You, on the other hoof, have a say in the matter. There is no harm in educating oneself, but what would you wish to do with the knowledge you obtain? Is it merely enough for your curiosity to uncover it, or do you wish to use it for others?”
“I do want to use it. For good. But not myself. Magic belongs to greater ponydom. To capable ponies, so that they may find one another, and do great things. As friends.”
“Do you think yourself incapable of shedding your tribalist upbringing? You have already done so well.”
“No. But... I often find myself struggling to lead others. Perhaps not directly, but at least in part, by example.”
“You’re more capable than you believe, Clover.”
Clover nodded with fierce conviction. “But until such a time comes, if such a time comes at all, I am content to stand aside, and let others lead the way to friendship between all ponies.”
Silver bowed his head, eyes closed. “Then allow me to welcome you, Clover. You will stand beside me in the shadow of ponydom. Watching, listening, a small but vital part of our past, present, and future. This is what the herd needs, lest we lose our way again.”
Clover sat up. The world felt soft and fuzzy, as if she were waking from a pleasant dream. The rain had gone now, and the pegasus had lowered his cowl once more. She followed suit. Her mane danced against the light breeze blowing through the plains. She laid her head back down.
“Silver,” she said, her neck against the earth. “Will I one day meet my friends again?”
“For you? As soon as you’d like.”
“Then, after I am finished here, I shall seek them.”
“As you should. It’s right to visit your friends every once in a while. Life is fickle, short, and oh so precious. Cherish the presence of others while you can. Equestria needs friendship.”
The plains grew quiet. The clouds receded.
Twelve minutes later, Clover stood, alone in the plains where she had fallen. Where she had seen the visions of a thousand strangers in the background. All gone without a trace, save the images and words now drifting in her head.
Clover traced her way back to the farmlands.
And then she, too, was gone.
“Minuette, you know a lot about history, right?”
“History? Um, duh. It comes with my personal interest in time, Twinkleshine.”
“Well, I was thinking about our recent studies. I feel like the fact that Starswirl the Bearded overshadows Clover the Clever’s legacy is a tragedy everypony glosses over.”
“Really? Why do you say that?”
“Yeah, she looks good below Starswirl on the podium!”
“What? Lemon Hearts!”
“No, I actually agree.”
Both Lemon Hearts and Twinkleshine turned to Minuette.
“Minnie,” Twinkleshine said slowly. “Because she was second to Starswirl, she was forgotten to history.”
Minuette threw a hoof and tongue out. “Pft, we wouldn’t be talking about her if she was.”
“Yeah!” Lemon bobbed her head up and down. “You see, she helped play her part with the other founders, and then got to do what most ponies don’t get to do after they get into the spotlight like that—she got to keep her privacy!”
“Well, it’s not like she was Sapphire Shores or something,” Twinkleshine grumbled. “You’d think that she’d at least get some significant sort of credit. They hardly recognize her in school.”
Minuette cleared her throat. “Well, you know... there are plenty of ponies who help co-author books, and their name being below the main author is practically the only accolade they’ll ever earn for the work.”
“That doesn’t make it any less tragic!” Twinkleshine shouted.
“No,” Minuette calmly replied. “What I mean is that Clover helped achieve something great, and was content to let others speak for its existence. If ponies imparted some responsibility to her, that was fine. If she wanted to be known, she was easily in reach of those ponies attached to those legacies, ponies like Starswirl, or later, Princess Celestia. But, she didn’t.”
Lemon hummed. “Mhm. She was humble.”
“She earned her title in service to Princess Platinum, and reinforced it during her time with Starswirl the Bearded.” Twinkleshine rubbed a hoof against her head. “And yet, it’s hardly ever explained why.”
Minuette rolled her eyes. “Twinkleshine, it’s pretty obvious. You’re overthinking it.”
“What?”
“It’s because she’s the everyday everymare!” Tapping the table, Minuette turned to Lemon Hearts. “Lemon, what’s the first thing you say whenever Clover shows up in the Hearth’s Warming Eve play?”
“‘I love her.’”
Minuette threw a hoof out and beamed triumphantly at Twinkleshine. “See?”
“How does that explain anything?!”
“Lemon Hearts is like, the most herd-minded one of us! She follows the crowd without fail!”
Lemon bore a proud smile. “It’s true!”
“So, what.” Twinkleshine leaned against a fetlock. “You’re trying to tell me that Clover’s ‘clever’ because she was actually a boring pony?”
“That is such a Twilight response,” Minuette giggled. “Clover wasn’t boring. She just didn’t overthink things! That’s what made her clever in the presence of ponies who did overthink things.”
Twinkleshine shook her head in disbelief. “Clover didn’t have many accomplishments, sure, but she was intelligent and, reportedly, wise beyond her years.”
“That’s why she was an advisor.” Minuette tittered excitedly. “She was practically a seer! She looked, immediately saw how things were, and how that could affect things, then offered her advice. Whether it would be taken or not was up to the pony, but unlike Princess Platinum, Starswirl was one who listened. She stopped chronicling her life after leaving Platinum’s service, but the results of her apprenticeship under Starswirl are evident in how his journals changed. We would never have Starswirl’s Age of Spellcrafting were it not for her. He needed a mare’s touch to reconstruct his spells and theorems to something ponies could use everyday. Clover was his ‘clever’ insight into the everyday pony!”
“I love her,” Lemon booped in.
“Okay, sure, she could be downright... ‘mundane’ with her presence. She fit right into the background, and let Starswirl take the glory. Even if I do still think it’s strange that she didn’t want the honors...” Twinkleshine took a breath. “But, she was an accomplished historian. Or rather, there are tons of books and scripts where her name and work are involved. Why don’t more ponies appreciate that?”
“Oh, I can answer this!” Lemon was positively radiant. “Not everypony has to appreciate the ponies in the background, Twinkleshine.” She giggled, her face softening. “But we see. And we do. Because the ponies like Clover the Clever, the ponies who came before us, who stayed to the sidelines and devoted their lives to recording Equestria and ponydom’s history without thanks, they gave us the Equestria we have today. When we have ponies keeping our history alive, it demands sacrifice. And I, for one, am grateful.”
After a moment, Twinkleshine smiled warmly. “You know what? That helps put everything in perspective. Thanks.”
Minuette gave an approving nod. “Well said, Lemon.”
“I try!”
With the past acknowledged, the scholars and friends moved on.
