He plodded with a bit of a hunch, slowly making his way into the center of town. That his creaky, wobbly limbs could carry him at all was something of a wonder, but the dust stains on his otherwise creamy white legs, combined with his weary disposition, seemed to indicate that they had carried him far indeed to reach this town. An olive green cloak sat haphazardly around his body. It was well-worn, and near the tips of it, the green gave way to the dusty brown color of accumulated dust. Periodically, he gave it a tug in a futile attempt to keep it from dragging through the dirt. Beneath his cloak, and relatively safe from the wears of the road were a set of light brown cloth panniers whose right side bulged with a rectangular object. His mane was an unkempt knot of chocolate brown, still rich of color despite his age, and he had no horn or wings. He blended in quite well with the bustling crowds.
"Excuse me. Excuse me! Oh dear, this is not getting me anywhere. Excuse me, young one."
Several ponies passed him by, seeming not to notice the elderly gentlepony. He sighed.
"These youngsters, so busy. Never stop running around. I don't know how they do it.”
He stopped at an intersection and mused, scrutinizing his surroundings. Days of wandering Equestria's roads had caused him to develop an unfortunate tendency to talk to himself.
“Now let's see here."
His stomach let out a low grumble, and his gaze fixed on a small cafe.
"I suppose my errand can wait a few moments. Just long enough to grab a bite. I'm not so young as I once was." He chuckled to nopony in particular.
With a light push of his head, the swinging wooden doors creaked open, and his eyes were treated to the pleasantly dim interior of the descriptively named Ponyville Center Café. The cafe was empty, mostly. Breakfast had ended some time ago, and most ponies were out working. The lunchtime rush would not happen for an hour or two yet, but the old stallion was an early riser, and he had eaten only a bit of grass for breakfast.
"Good morning, sir! Please, have a seat anywhere you like. Though, I personally recommend our window booths. I'll be along shortly to take your order," a female mare chirped at him.
She was mostly white, with a bright red shock of hair for a mane, and a cutie mark depicting a small serving tray. She held a ledger in her teeth, and the attached pen protruded from her mouth at rather a silly angle.
The stallion found it difficult to believe that a pony could be so chipper about a waitress job, but if that was her special talent, he supposed she must enjoy her work as much as anypony else in Equestria. It was one of the many wondrous things about cutie marks. Nopony ever seemed to wish for a different one. The single best cutie mark for a pony was always the one on their flank. He had only a short time to ponder this before the mare trotted happily over to attend him. She took the ledger from her mouth and placed it on the table.
"What can I get for you, sir?" Her voice was pleasant and bright.
Rather than trouble himself to lift the menu, the elderly stallion decided to ask her directly.
"I don't suppose you serve a nice thistle salad?"
"The very best this side of Canterlot! One delicious thistle salad coming right up." The mare beamed at the old stallion and asked, "Would you like anything to drink, sir?"
He pondered the thought for a second, though he knew what his answer would be.
"Hmm. No thank you,” he replied. “Just a glass of water, perhaps?"
She nodded and jotted something on her ledger. Finished, she looked up and favored him with another smile.
He returned her smile and said, "Thank you very much, young one."
Ah, thistle salad. Years of eating Canterlot royal fare, and still he found nothing quite as delicious. Thistle salad was a simple dish, and he encountered few restaurants that carried it these days. It seemed the ultramodern and chic metropolis that was Canterlot no longer catered to the tastes of sentimental old-timers, but he was glad to see it here. Ponyville always did make the best thistle salads. Back in the day...
What seemed like only a moment of reflection passed before the waitress returned.
"Your salad, sir. And here's your water. Just gimme a yell if you need anything!" She winked at him and trotted off again.
He took a bite of the salad. It was a good salad. Maybe it was his imagination, but he thought it lacked that special taste that Uncle Tiller's thistle salad always had. He could take the meager collection of ingredients their family could afford, and create something wonderful from it; something simple, but delicious. This salad was a good salad, though-one of the best he had eaten in years. Uncle Tiller would be proud of Ponyville, carrying on his legacy.
The aging stallion smiled, and dug into his salad, quietly ruminating, letting his mind drift between topics. The waitress came by a few times to top up his water, but mostly left him to his thoughts. As he neared the end of his salad, a burst of familiar noise interrupted his reverie. A clock tower chimed once, twice, thrice. He counted each chime, though he knew the time already. Finally, the final chime sounded and the tower fell silent. The last time he had heard this clock chime, he had been merely a colt. How quickly the years seemed to pass. How many times had that clock tower cried out since then? He smiled weakly. It was eleven o’clock already. There was work to be done, and no sense sitting around all day reminiscing. He supposed it was about time to head out. He inspected his bill and reached his head into a money pouch tucked away within the folds of his cloak.
The faintly metallic taste of the bits registered on his tongue for a moment, and then he let them drop onto the table. He left a large tip for the cheerful waitress, and lifted himself creakily out of his seat.
As he drew himself to the exit, an orange mare pushed her head through the door. She wore a brown wide-rimmed hat and carried two buckets of apples in her teeth. It took him only a moment to recognize the three bright red apples emblazoned on her flank. This was Applejack, one of the ponies the princess had told him about.
After placing the buckets carefully on the floor, she called to the serving girl, who was still cleaning the stallion's table, "Howdy, Sunshine! I got ya'lls delivery. Apple Family apples, fresh from the farm as always. Best darn apples o' the season, too."
Sunshine, the serving girl, quickly attended to the newcomer.
"Thanks as usual, Applejack,” she chirped. “Hard day of work? Say, can I get you anything? I'd recommend the pie."
Applejack chuckled. "No thank ya, Sugarcube. Them apples ain't gonna harvest themselves. Me an Big Mac still got a good few hours o' work to do, I reckon. Maybe next time."
Now Applejack turned to the elderly stallion, who was still looking over. "Why howdy, stranger. I don't think I've seen ya around before. Ya'll new here?"
He looked her over before answering her. "Well... not precisely. Oh, but, that was a long time ago. Times change, you know. I'm a traveler, you see, passing through on an errand."
Applejack smiled and introduced herself. "Well, pleasure to meetcha all the same. Name's Applejack. I live up yonder, at Sweet Apple Acres, the big farm up on the hill. Ya'll come see me if ya need any help findin' yer way around, mister, uh...?"
The serving pony had finished hauling the buckets and just then emerged with Applejack's payment.
"Here you go, Applejack. Same price as always, right?"
"Yep. Thank ya kindly." Applejack pocketed the money. "Ya'll take care now, all right?"
With a nod to the elderly stallion, Applejack trotted out of the restaurant. He followed her out, but quickly lost track of her in the crowd. He sighed, then walked into the throng.
The stallion had business in Ponyville. He was not here for nostalgia’s sake, as he repeatedly reminded himself during the long walk to the Ponyville school. He would enter, do his work, and leave again. No, he couldn't do that. To stay away when there was nothing to remind him was easy - as easy as forgetting. But here, the past refused to sleep. Here, in the sleepy little village of Ponyville.
The elderly stallion gripped the edge of his cloak and tugged, causing the cloak to settle on him in a slightly more orderly fashion. He ran a hoof over his matted hair, lifted his head a bit higher, and straightened his back.
'One tends to let oneself go when one is older,' he thought to himself, 'but even an elderly gentlepony should avoid looking dissheveled while about the Princess' business.'
The Ponyville school. He remembered the Ponyville school, but did not recognize the new building. New? He laughed. The fire that had forced the school's rebuilding had been twenty years ago.
'The school is not new,' he thought. 'I am merely old.'
Nevertheless, the creaky old gate had not been destroyed and, apart from some repairs and a new paintjob, looked pretty much the same as always. He nudged it open with his head. The loud creak it generated was pretty much the same, too. Several of the foals turned to inspect the newcomer, but quickly resumed their play. Recess was serious business for foals. Not so their teacher.
By his estimation, the schoolteacher was probably still fairly young, but his estimation of such things had grown much worse with age. The mare was well-groomed, attractive, and walking toward him with a stern but personable expression. In a moment, she was in front of him.
"Hello, sir. Can I help you?" asked the mare with a hint of irritation at his interruption of her brief break from teaching.
"Hmm..." He dragged out the syllable for a while, pondering. "No, thank you. I think I shall just watch for a while."
Cheerilee blinked. And she blinked again. And a third time, she blinked. The stallion held back a grin.
The ambient sounds of foals laughing, yelling, and galloping about handily overwhelmed the noises made by the adults, and even if they hadn't, the stallion doubted that the students cared too much. However, a few heads did turn at their teacher's stern reply.
"I'm sorry, sir, but this is a school. Outsiders are not allowed to observe the children without express permission from the principal, and an appointment. I'm going to have to ask you to leave." The teacher’s tone was gentle, but with an edge that warned against argument.
The stallion laughed. "So then, am I to take it that when you say, 'Can I help you,' you mean to ask what I am doing at your school. But let me put your heart at ease. I am no predator. I leave such things to the wolves. Neither do I mean your children any harm. I am merely a gentle old pony, looking to reminisce about the days of my youth in Ponyville. I find that watching these young ones play bring back memories. I can depart if I must."
This was not entirely true. The school did carry a bit of nostalgia, but also other feelings he wished to keep buried, and the elderly gentlestallion was truly here on business of the Princess.
'However,' he thought, 'both I and the Princess prefer that I not use her authority unnecessarily.'
"It's all right, sir,” she relented with a sigh. “It's just, there are more and more unsavory types these days. It's very important to protect the children. You take as long as you need."
“Thank you very much, Madam.” He bowed his head.
Cheerilee smiled at him, turned, and trotted off into the school building.
The elderly stallion turned his attention to three foals in particular – three little fillies who stood out among their peers for their lack of a cutie mark. The group comprised a unicorn, a pegasus, and an earth pony foal: the unicorn, white with a slightly curly purple and powder pink mane; the pegasus, orange with a fuchsia mane; the earth pony, yellow with a straight red mane and tail. He had seen pictures of these ponies before – first, during the investigation of Discord’s release and, more recently, in the materials Celestia had given him for his new assignment. At the moment, the three huddled together, whispering enthusiastically. No doubt they were scheming, planning their next attempt at gaining their cutie marks. The elderly stallion smiled slightly, for only a moment.
The three foals were not the only thing he noticed, though. Another little filly watched the three. Her coat was a pale tan, and she sported a frizzy red mane and glasses. Her cutie mark depicted two pink and white candy canes, crossed in the shape of a heart. From his knowledge of the situation, he supposed this filly must be Twist. The Princess certainly was thorough with her information.
Twist looked on with a complicated expression. She was happy, yet sad, and perhaps nostalgic. He was unaccustomed to seeing such emotions in one so young, but he understood.
Momentarily, several other young fillies approached Twist, disrupting her reverie, and the group wandered off, chattering happily.
Just then, another two fillies trotted out of the schoolhouse, one with a cherry blossom coat and white and bright lavender mane, and one silvery gray with a two-tone gray mane. The Cutie Mark Crusaders’ lighthearted chatter was replaced by anxious whispers. They looked around in vain to see if their teacher was nearby, and braced themselves for confrontation.
“I hear you guys came up with a name for yourselves. The ‘Cutie Mark Crusaders,’ huh?”
The orange Pegasus (Scootaloo, was it?) reluctantly turned.
“Diamond Tiara? Why can’t you just leave us alone?” she snapped irritably.
Diamond Tiara (whose cutie mark, incidentally, happened to be a tiara decorated with diamonds) huffed and tossed her head haughtily.
“We were just going to help,” she said innocently. “We wanted to offer you some advice. Isn’t that right, Silver Spoon?”
“Yeah. Your name is, like, totally stupid.” Now the silver mare, evidently named Silver Spoon, was speaking.
Diamond Tiara spoke again. “Yeah. You should call yourselves ‘The Blank Flank Losers,’ or something.”
The elderly stallion interrupted. “Actually, I quite like their choice of name.” He stepped forward and continued. “It’s remarkably creative, compared to what most fillies come up with. You know, like, ‘The Cutie Mark Club,’ or ‘The Blank Flanks—‘”
Diamond Tiara’s face lit with anger, and she tried her best to menace the elderly pony. “And who do you think you are, interrupting me? Do you know who my father is?”
“I’m afraid I do not, but, based on your behavior, I would guess that either he is a poor parent, or you are a particularly rotten child,” replied the stallion in a matter-of-fact tone.
She was incensed. “What? What did you say about my father?” she raged.
“Your manners are atrocious,” he answered calmly. “It is the job of the father to mould his daughter’s behavior to a good and proper standard. I presume that both you and your friend here must not have had adequate instruction.”
Diamond Tiara perfectly fumed, while Silver Spoon stood by uneasily. The elderly stallion winked at the Cutie Mark Crusaders, now forgotten, and used a hoof to gesture back toward the playground. The three fillies took their cue and trotted off, waving their thanks.
“…impudent, arrogant old workhorse!”
Oops. He had momentarily ignored the stream of insults coming from the little filly. She did have quite a good vocabulary for her age, though.
“Impudent, eh?” He lowered his voice to a near whisper. “I do suppose you need to be a little brash to be one of the Princess’ advisors.”
Diamond Tiara’s head snapped up, her spine straightened, and her jaw went slack for an instant. Then, the look of surprise gave way to a smirk.
“Please, the Princess’ court of advisors is a place for dignified unicorns, not senile farmponies,” she mocked.
He smiled modestly. “Oh, well, I suppose you must be correct then. In any case, recess seems to be nearing its end, and I have business to attend to. Give Filthy my regards, won’t you?”
Diamond Tiara’s confidence had clearly abated. “Wait!” she called after him. “You said you didn’t know my father.”
“Oh my, did I say that? Must be that senility kicking in again,” he answered with a laugh.
The elderly stallion chuckled as he ambled away.
This group was pretty standard fare. Not a hard case, just a few conversations, and he’d be done in a few days. Just… why did it have to be in Ponyville, of all places?
‘Well,’ he thought, ‘it is fitting. It has been far too long since I’ve been here, and I’ve always meant to return…’
But the three foals looked content and happy. He knew his answer.
The elderly stallion stood in front of the Sweet Apple Acres farmhouse. He had taken a leisurely route, but by his estimations, it must still be early afternoon. He lifted a hoof, and his green cloak settled awkwardly around the raised limb. He rapped gently on the door, replaced his hoof on the ground, and waited silently. Several minutes passed; the stallion stood stock-still outside the door. He rapped again, but this time more forcefully. Rap-rap-rap. Still, there was no answer. Perhaps all the adults were out tending the farm, and he knew that Apple Bloom was in school. Just to be sure, he rapped again, very loudly. This time, he heard a reply.
“Hold your horses, young’un! I’m a-comin’,” croaked an aged female voice from inside.
The door creaked open, revealing an elderly green mare with a white mane and an apple pie for a cutie mark. Could that be…?
“Auntie Smith?” he asked.
Granny Smith was not truly his auntie, of course, but in Ponyville’s farming community, Granny Smith was everypony’s auntie.
“Well, butter my biscuit!” she exclaimed. “Why, if it isn’t little Blankie! My goodness, how you’ve grown. Ah hardly recognized you. It’s been – oh, how many years has it been? Confound this old brain of mine. Come in, come in! I’ve just got two pies cooling on the windowsill.”
The elderly stallion grimaced.
“It’s been years since anypony called me Blankie. I’m an old stallion now. Everypony calls me by my real name.” he corrected Ms. Smith as he followed her toward the kitchen.
“Do they now? Well, you still look like a young whippersnapper to me,” she retorted. “So, you’re living off in Canterlot, aintcha? What brings you back to Ponyville after all this time, Blankie?”
The elderly stallion sighed. “I’m only here for business, Auntie. Life’s all work these days, you know. Folks in Canterlot never seem to take a break to enjoy life.”
“I remember back when you were real energetic, like little Apple Bloom,” she recalled. “You and Penny was always runnin’ around much too fast for the rest of us. Speakin’ of which, are you gonna be visiting ol’ Tiller or Penny while you’re here?”
He sat in silence for a while. Finally, he said, “Yes, I suppose I should while I am here.” He sighed, then continued. “But enough about my old skin. How about your family? How is apple farming these days?”
“There we go. A nice treat for little Blankie.” She handed him a plate with a very large slice of apple pie. “Now, where were we? Ah, yes, the farm. Well, we’re doing better’n ever. We got the best darn apples for miles, an’ everypony knows it. Had a couple o’ fast-talkin’ hooligans came here with their fancy gizmos and tried to compete with our cider, but we whipped ‘em good. No sense of good old-fashioned quality in the youngsters these days! I’m lucky I got such fine grandchildren to take over the farm when ah’m gone. I know they’ll treat it right. Now if only my hip would stop actin’ up.”
He agreed politely, while nibbling at his slice of pie.
She leaned forward conspiratorially, and whispered, “Now, I know you ain’t here to listen to me prattle on all afternoon. What’s on your mind, sonny?”
He leaned closer as well, and answered in a hushed tone, “I’m here on behalf of the Princess. If it’s not too much trouble, I’d like to speak with Applejack when she returns.”
She sat back and laughed. “Is that it, Sonny? Why, you coulda just gone and found her out in the orchards! My goodness, to think, you, little Blankie, workin’ for the Princess? That’s a long haul from Ponyville. No wonder ya’ll don’t come out to this little town very often.”
The elderly stallion balked. “It’s nothing like that. I love this town. And to be honest, eating with silver spoons gets old.”
“That so? Well, far as I’m concerned, you’ll always be welcome here in Ponyville. At least, among us Apples.” Granny Smith smiled and winked at him. “Even if nopony else remembers, I still do. Can’t seem to remember anything else, though.”
“Thanks.” He flashed a big, genuine smile.
The elderly stallion finished his pie in silence and stood up.
“Thank you very much for the pie, Auntie. It was wonderful. But I suppose I must go find Applejack,” he said apologetically.
“What’s the rush, little dumplin’?” she asked. “By my reckonin’, Applejack’ll be coming back in two shakes of a horse’s tail. Now how would you like another slice of pie?”
The stallion shook his head.
“No thank you, Auntie. I appreciate it, but I’ve had my fill. Thank you in any case,” he answered.
“Fiddlesticks,” she declared. “I know that ain’t so. You young’uns need to eat to stay healthy.”
Granny Smith deftly cut another slice from the pie and transferred it to his plate in a single motion.
“All right, all right. You win.” He conceded with a sigh. “Thank you, Auntie. Though, you know, I’m not so young as I used to be.”
She grinned a crooked grin. “Oh, quit your grousing and eat your pie. You’ll always be little Blankie, far’s I’m concerned.”
The two sat in silence for a few minutes while the elderly stallion finished his second slice of pie. Granny Smith closed her eyes and seemed to nod of.
‘I could wake her up… but there’s no reason to disturb her. She needs her rest,’ he thought to himself.
Just then, her eyes popped back open and she leaned forward again.
“You know,” she whispered. “Tiller would be awful proud of you. Penny, too.”
Then she straightened up, cocked her head for a second, and said, “Hoo boy, I think I hear Applejack a-comin’ just now.”
And sure enough, just then an orange mare walked in, hat crooked, shoulders slumped and mane unkempt from a hard day of work, with a triumphant smile on her face.
“Whoo-ee! We got quite a crop of apples this year. Might be able to finally buy that new apple cart we been lookin’ at.” She stopped as she saw her guest. “Ah, well, if it ain’t that stranger from the diner. Howdy-doo there, stranger. You got business with Sweet Apple Acres? I see you’ve already met Granny Smith.”
At this, Granny Smith popped her head into the conversation.
“Well, it’s about time for my afternoon nap. I’ll leave you two young’uns to your business. A-whoop-a-tee-oo!” she hollered.
And with that, she hobbled out of the kitchen. The stranger chuckled.
“Yes, yes, I have indeed met Auntie Smith,” he told Applejack.
“Come again? Did ya’ll just say Auntie?” Applejack peered at him quizzically.
“Well, you understand,” he said with a sly grin, “she’s not my grandmother, so I oughtn’t call her Granny. It would be rude.”
“Well, you sure as sugar ain’t an Apple. You’re far too scrawny,” she noted, then added, “No offense.”
The stranger replied with a chuckle. “None taken, I assure you. No, she’s not my aunt by blood, but she always treated me as her nephew. She was kind to all of us children in Ponyville’s farming community, but especially to me.”
As he continued, the elderly stallion stared into the distance.
“So, you’re a farmer, then?” Applejack asked. “Are you related to the Harvest Family?”
Her question snapped him out of his reverie.
“No, no, I’m no longer related to anypony in Ponyville.” He shook his head. “Well, as far as I know.”
“All right then, stranger. What can I call ya?” she asked with her own brand of politeness.
“My proper name is ‘Tabula Rasa,’ but you may call me ‘Blank,’ young lady, and it is a pleasure to meet you again,” he replied.
“The pleasure’s mine. Now what can we do ya for here at Sweet Apple Acres?” she asked.
The elderly stallion paused in thought for a while.
“Applejack, do you believe in destiny?” he asked her.
“Ah don’t think ah see where this is goin’,” she answered, “or what this has got to do with anythin’, but I reckon I don’t. A pony’s gotta go out and make somethin’ outta their life. This here apple farm ain’t gonna grow if we don’t make it. Ya gotta grab life by the horns, and ride it out.”
The elderly stallion nodded.
“Then tell me, Applejack. You and your five friends all received your cutie marks at the same time, correct? And now the six of you form the Elements of Harmony. Do you think that was destiny, or chance?” he asked.
“Aw, shucks, I don’t know about any of that. Ah just did what seemed right to do. Twi’s good with all that fancy magic stuff. Maybe ya’ll oughtta ask her.” She paused, then asked, suspicion edging into her voice. “Hey, just who are ya’ll, and how do you know all that stuff about us?”
“Oh, my apologies, Madam,” he replied suavely. “It completely slipped my mind. I was sent here by the Princess to advise you regarding your sister.”
Applejack peered at him for a while. For just a moment, a sly smile crossed her face.
“All right, I reckon I believe you. Ya’ll best be aware, we don’t give much thought to fancy titles or nothin’ round here. Now, as ah was sayin’, why don’t ya’ll go talk to Twi?” she answered.
The stallion smiled now.
“I’m well aware of Miss Sparkle’s wide array of knowledge,” he assured. “However, I was not sent here to see Miss Sparkle. I came to see you. Do you have time? And if so, do you suppose you would accompany me somewhere?”
“Well, I reckon I could make some time, but there ain’t much interesting to see in Ponyville,” she said with a nod.
“Beautiful.” He smiled. “Come along then, follow me, young lady.”
She started to follow him, then stopped. “Where are we going, anyhow?”
He turned his head and answered. “The Ponyville hospital, of course.”
“What’s at the Ponyville hospital?” she asked.
“You’ll see.”
It was a wonderful walk from Sweet Apple Acres to Ponyville, particularly at this time of year. The Running of the Leaves wasn’t for a few more weeks, but most of the trees had already traded their standard green apparel in favor of a variety of warm colors from golden orange to burnished red to dusty brown. The afternoon sun peeked out from behind a cloud bank, and cast leafy shadows on the road before them.
“Ponyville is a beautiful place, you know. You’re blessed to live here.” The elderly stallion spoke quietly, as if in respect for the tranquility of the landscape.
Applejack nodded. “It sure is. I never did appreciate it till mah time over in Manehattan. Ah guess we take these things for granted until we give ‘em up,” she replied.
“Yes. Most ponies take quite a lot for granted – more than they realize,” said the stallion.
The two gazed at the scenery and proceeded in silence. After a few minutes, they arrived at the edge of town, which was significantly less busy than when the stallion had arrived that morning.
“Well, Mr. Blank, I reckon we’re nearly here. Now are ya’ll gonna tell me what we had to walk all the way out to the Ponyville Hospital fer?” asked Applejack.
He smiled at that. “Yes, Applejack, all in good time. You young ones are so impatient these days. You’ll ruin a good walk, you know, trying to speed it all along.”
A red and white pole and its attached barber shop passed them on the right, and Ponyville hospital came into view. At this, the elderly stallion stopped abruptly, turning to Applejack.
“Tell me. Where are most foals named?” questioned Mr. Blank.
“Beg pardon?” Applejack asked, confused.
“Named – where are most foals given their names?” He repeated the question.
“Well,” Applejack said, thinking, “ah s’pose most foals are named in the hospital. Me an’ Applebloom were born out at Sweet Apple Acres, though.”
“Then tell me, Applejack,” he continued, voice serious, “when did Diamond Tiara’s parents name her?”
“Well, her pa’s a pretty fancy fellow, so ah reckon she was born in the hospital. Look, is this conversation goin’ anyplace? Because I got work to do ‘round the farm.” Applejack sighed.
“Patience, child. I assure you, I have a point. Now, do you suppose that Diamond Tiara had her Cutie Mark before she was named?” He smirked.
“Well, no, ah reckon she didn’t,” she answered.
“And yet her name effectively describes her Cutie Mark. The same with Silver Spoon. And what about Mr. and Mrs. Cake, Twilight Sparkle, or Rainbow Dash? What about Canterlot’s own Shining Armor, or Soarin’, or even the princesses themselves? How in the world could their names so effectively describe their Cutie Marks, when their Cutie Marks didn’t exist yet? And it’s not just that. These questions are only the what. They don’t even begin to touch the why. So tell me, Applejack. Why do you have a Cutie Mark?” He finished his monologue and turned to her, as though expecting an answer.
“Shucks, don’t ask me,” she replied. “I don’t know nothin’ bout no fancy magic and Cutie Marks. I was the last in my class to get one.”
“Precisely so. You see, a pony’s special talent must already be with them, decided at birth, or before. But it’s not until they stop running from it, stop searching for it, and come to understand it, that it manifests.” He concluded.
Applejack thought about that for a minute.
“So what you’re saying, then, is that Apple Bloom oughtta stop lookin’ for her Cutie Mark and just accept what she’s good at?” she asked.
Applejack had never really hoped to help Applebloom get her Cutie Mark sooner, but if it were possible, her sister would definitely be thrilled.
He shook his head. “No, not at all. While she might get her Cutie Mark sooner, that certainly wouldn’t be a good thing.”
Applejack stared at him blankly. “What are ya’ll tryin’ to say?”
“Remember when you discovered your Cutie Mark? You didn’t understand at the time, and you longed to discover your talent as soon as possible. But in the end, your Cutie Mark connected you with all of your friends – friends who have saved all of Equestria numerous times,” the elderly stallion explained. “You see? Your Cutie Mark doesn’t just determine your talent. It can determine your friends and your family. Tell me, for instance. Does Applebloom play with Twist anymore?”
Without waiting for a reply, he continued.
“The friends she has now may last her a lifetime. And at present, their Cutie Marks are the strings that bind them together. If any one of the three acquired her Cutie Mark, wouldn’t she be alienated from the rest of the group? And further, though the crusaders are ostensibly searching for their special talent, they seem to avoid doing anything that might actually be their special talent. It’s almost as if they’re trying to avoid getting their Cutie Marks – consciously or subconsciously.”
“Well, shucks.” Applejack paused for a moment to gather her thoughts. “I reckon ya’ll might be onto somethin’ there. But, if that’s so, why would the Princess send some fancy royal pony down here to tell me that there ain’t nothin’ ta be done?”
He smiled wistfully. “The Princess has her reasons,” he replied.
She nodded. “So what you’re sayin’ is, ya’ll don’t know neither.”
“Ah… yes, that’s correct.” He smirked, and winked at her. “You’re not the element of honesty for nothing, young lady. You’ve quite an aptitude for straightforwardness.”
“Ya’ll have no idea,” she said under her breath.
He paused for a minute. “Beg Pardon, young lady? I couldn’t quite hear you.”
She grinned. “Oh, it weren’t nothin’.”
He nodded his head, then added, “I suspect the Princess’ is interested in your sister because you bear one of the elements – if I had to guess, that is. Well, now that that’s out of the way, shall we…”
The elderly stallion trailed off, as his eyes locked onto a small marble sign. He recognized that sign. He remembered the carved grooves of the lettering, and how each letter was cool to the touch. He remembered the crooked little forest path just beyond it. He remembered what came after, though he’d only seen it once. A tiny little cemetery, filled with memories and remembrances. Flowers, inscriptions, and tokens to represent lives and legacies.
“If you’d just excuse me, young lady, I suppose there’s something I should do,” he said with a sigh. “Now that I’m here, it seems I can’t run away again, can I? You should go along back home, and I won’t trouble you again.”
His voice was weak now, lacking the conviction it had carried a minute ago.
“Are ya’ll sure?” She sounded concerned.
“No, no, actually, I’m not sure at all. I don’t suppose… well, if you don’t mind, could I ask a favor? Would you mind, ah, that is… coming with me? Well, I mean, if it’s not too much to ask, that is.” He made the request hesitantly.
Applejack smiled warmly.
“It’s fine, Sugarcube,” she assured. “We Apple family are always there for a pony in need. If ya’ll need a friend, ah’m right glad to be one.”
He bowed his head to her. “Ah. Thank you most graciously, young lady.”
He didn’t know how long it had been since he had embarrassed himself that badly.
‘Ahh, why did I do that? I shouldn’t need to depend on a young mare like her, at my age. I’m forty years her elder.’ He mentally derided himself.
At the same time, the back of his mind roiled with emotions – sadness, fear, and regret. He knew he couldn’t have come here alone, so asking Applejack was the right decision. But there was a sick kind of pleasure in belittling himself. It took his mind off of the past, in its own way. In that state of mine, he walked forward.
The crooked forest path looked mostly the way he had remembered it, except much smaller, and the trees didn’t tower above him as ominously. Perhaps it was the Fall colors, which painted the forest in orange and red. It almost seemed friendly or warm. Within a few minutes, a small wooden sign came into view, and they paused.
“Here lie the vessels of those who have gone before, who need them no more. Visitors, may you find peace in this place,” it read.
He spoke. “Everyone’s destiny lies here, young lady. Princes and paupers alike go to the ground to sleep. Makes you wonder how meaningful life really is, doesn’t it?”
She thought for a moment before answering. “Beg pardon, but I think ya’ll got it backwards. Now, ah ain’t read all those fancy books like Twi, but when I go out to work, and help mah sister with school, and help Granny Smith get around… when I help my friends and when we do right by other folks, we ain’t workin on somethin’ that dies with us. All those ponies, our friends. Everypony we help and every time we make a difference, that stays behind. And all that’s out there. It ain’t in here.”
He smiled despite himself. “You sound like him. He used to call it ‘legacy.’ He once said, ‘Destiny is what you’re given. Legacy is what you do with it.’ But isn’t that foolish? A pony who spends his life worrying about whom he influences will die one day, leaving his real business unfinished. If you died tomorrow, would you have fulfilled your dreams? Would you have done something great? Or would you have spent it helping others fulfill theirs?” he questioned.
“Now hold on a darn minute,” she answered with conviction. “Ya’ll big city folk always make things way too complicated. Well, we here in Ponyville are simple folk. Ya help your friends when they need it, and ya build a barn when it needs buildin’. Ya ain’t gotta choose between helping others and dealin’ with your own problems. ‘Sides, if ya need it, your friends will be there for you.”
“Well. Perhaps so. Perhaps I have lived too long in this world.” He wished he could see the world that way.
He walked forward, and spoke as he walked. “Applejack, we were talking about destiny earlier. Do you believe in an afterlife?”
She shrugged. “Ya’ll mean like God and that kind of stuff? I reckon I ain’t had time enough to worry about the next life. I guess there are some folks who believe in that stuff. Don’t get me wrong, it ain’t that I don’t care, I just don’t have time for it, but if ya’ll introduce me to the pony who created friendship, I’d gladly shake his hoof, and I’d be right glad to have a friend like that.”
“It might seem odd to think about, but such concerns may have more bearing on your life than you realize. We were talking about Cutie Marks earlier, remember? Well, their mechanism is quite unknown. And there are the Elements of Harmony, too. Penny used to say, ‘If we know that friendship and love equate to power, doesn’t that suggest that the source of power and the source of love must have the same character?’ He and I always argued the point. He thought that the love in the world had to come from somewhere, and that the source of that love had to be self-aware – some all-powerful being, you understand. But I always thought that love was something we created, a way to brighten the world.” He paused. “Oh dear, I’m sorry. I’m rambling, aren’t I? Please forgive me.”
“It’s all right, Sugarcube,” Applejack assured. “Now go on. This is what you’re here for, ain’t it?”
She gestured down the path.
They meandered around the corner and into a clearing. The bright hues of flowers, some natural, some left there by visitors, accentuated the gray tones of the time-worn stone markers, and the whole scene gave off a feeling of peace.
‘Very different,’ thought the elderly stallion, ‘from the last time I visited, when it all seemed so bleak.’
It had been overcast, and rained for part of the time. That must have been a mistake on the part of the weather team; no pony ever scheduled a memorial service for a rainy day.
The stallion walked forward purposefully. He still remembered where it was. The five graves formed an orderly line. On the left, his parents. In the middle, Penny, and on the right ol’ Tiller and Earthy, Penny’s parents. He hadn’t seen Tiller’s grave before, but time and the elements had already made their mark. Forty years is a long time. He stopped in front of Penny’s grave.
“Why… it’s blank.” Applejack voiced her surprise.
The grave marker they stopped in front of was indeed completely blank – no name, no inscription. The elderly stallion nodded.
“He left it to me to write the inscription,” he explained. “He said that once I found my place in the world… Well, that once I had my Cutie Mark, I should come back and inscribe it, and I’d know what to write. I haven’t been back since.”
They contemplated in silence for a while.
He turned to ask her a question. “Have you noticed, Applejack? Many of these graves are from the same time, about sixty years ago. Ponyville lost a lot of good ponies back then. Here’s a history lesson for you. The harvest wasn’t very good that year, and some kind of plague came out of the Everfree. My father was a victim of it, and my mother had hardly recovered when I was born. She didn’t make it through childbirth. My uncle, ol’ Tiller, lost a wife and a sister that year, and he adopted me. He made me part of the family. He hoped for a new beginning. I didn’t tell you my real name, did I? It’s ‘Tabula Rasa’, which means ‘Blank Slate.’ In Tiller’s mind, it stood for fresh starts, and new beginnings. That’s what he was hoping I would be. Well, in reality, it’s a psychological term, but Tiller always thought his meaning for it was better. Ol’ Tiller was always hopeful. He never let either of us children know how much he hurt, although sometimes he’d lock himself in the other room for a while.
“Penny was my brother, Tiller’s son, and his body never quite worked right. He was a dull gray earth pony with a funny little limp to his step. He looked so strange holding a quill all crooked between his teeth, but his mind was exceptional. He had an amazing talent with the pen, and his Cutie Mark was a quill and ink well. But he always used to say that his work would be nothing without the paper it was written on. His cohort couldn’t imagine a brilliant author like him, giving credit to a mundane, everyday item like paper. He said that he hadn’t created the paper – that was done by a host of ponies – some farmer would gather the materials, a parchmenter would treat them for use and prepare them, and a shopkeeper would sell them. All he did was direct its destiny, and even then, the paper had to accept his words. Well, in his own words… ‘I am the pen. The pen does only half the work, and I am afraid it is the sorrier half. For, with every letter I etch upon that blank canvas, and with every possibility I bring to life, I kill a thousand others. No, it is the paper that has the nobler task, for no matter how grand my design, it is as nothing if the paper does not bear it.’ It was he who taught me most of what I know. I guess I was his student, and he was my best friend.”
Applejack placed a hood on the elderly stallion’s shoulder.
“It sounds like he was a fine fella.” Applejack spoke softly.
He nodded, and replied. “He was a brilliant mind, and a kindhearted spirit. Then he had to go and die, and leave me behind.”
“That ain’t his fault. You can’t blame somepony for dyin’,” she said with more of an edge than she intended.
“No, no,” he corrected. “Let me clarify. It’s not that he died. I can’t forgive him for leaving his life’s work unfinished. Those last few months, he knew he was dying, and he just left it half written. He could have completed it, but he chose not to. He didn’t write a single word in that time. He told me that he was certain there would be ample time to complete it. He said that even then, he could see his life’s work coming to fruition. Why would he spend so much time and effort training me and teaching me, just to die without finishing anything? It would have been better if he’d just ignored me and completed the book.”
Applejack shook her head. “Maybe he couldn’t think of what to write next.” It was a weak excuse, but she couldn’t come up with anything else.
“No, that wasn’t it,” the elderly stallion responded. “It was his passion. He had plans – told me every plot point, every detail. He used to talk about it for hours. Even on his death bed. I still remember it, you know. And then he left me alone, with a half-written manuscript. And then, well, I stayed for the funeral, and left for Canterlot to seek my fortune among the intellectuals.”
“Hold up a second,” Applejack interrupted. “If he was a writer, and your teacher, how’d you end up studying Cutie Marks?”
“Well, I hadn’t discovered my special talent yet, which was quite unusual for a stallion my age. Besides, I already knew the topic quite well, for Penny and I spent prodigious amounts of time debating the matter. Anyway, it’s not as though I gave up writing,” he said.
He had entered “matter-of –fact lecturing” mode, and he knew it. It was a kind of escape for him; when he entered lecture mode, he could say even the most difficult things without emotion. As long as he feigned indifference, he could almost believe the events had happened to someone else. But he was moving forward, ever so slowly. For all his pretending, in his own way, he was fighting to release his emotions and face his past. And the first step was to face the facts.
He continued. “He would have said that his death was destiny, and it was up to me whether to accept it and move forward, or reject it and run away. No matter what the author writes, the paper must choose to accept.”
A burst of sound interrupted the stallion’s reverie. Three young fillies tumbled haphazardly into the clearing and collapsed in a pile. Sweetie Belle was the first to recover.
“Hi,” she said, shaking her head.
Scootaloo and Applebloom were not far behind. Applebloom rushed forward, gushing with excitement.
“Hey, sis!” she chattered excitedly. “We heard there was a Cutie Mark expert in town! That him?”
Scootaloo eyed the elderly stallion. “He doesn’t look like much. But I bet he’s got an awesome Cutie Mark!”
Applebloom dashed forward to the stallion. “Howdy, mister! I’m Applebloom. And this here’s Scootaloo and Sweetie Belle, and we’re…”
In unison, the three stood and shouted, “The Cutie Mark Crusaders! Yay!”
Sweetie Belle stared at him for a moment, and then her face lit with recognition.
“Hey, you’re the stallion who saved us back at school, aren’t you? Thank you very much,” she said.
Applebloom looked at him again and exclaimed, “Oh! It is you. Thanks a bunch!”
Scootaloo peeked over the others.
“Now I just KNOW you’re gonna have an awesome Cutie Mark. Like, a hoof of justice or something! What is it?” she asked.
“Hey, ya’ll said you like our name, right?” Applebloom interrupted, and her question sent all three of them off in excited chattering.
Applejack stepped in. “Now now, ya’ll back up and give him a little space, ya hear?” she scolded gently. They obeyed.
After a brief pause, Scootaloo asked again, “So… can we see your Cutie Mark?”
He smiled. “I don’t see the harm,” he replied. “But first, what do you fine fillies suppose it should be? I’ll give you a hint. My specialty is Cutie Marks, and I spend quite a lot of time helping foals who don’t have theirs yet. So what do you think?”
They all pondered for a short while. Scootaloo spoke first, only moments later.
“It’d obviously be a Cutie Mark of a Cutie Mark.”
“Fair enough,” the stallion answered. “What would that look like?”
“Well, it’d look like a Cutie Mark,” she said. Her face implied that the answer was obvious.
“Yes, but what Cutie Mark would my Cutie Mark depict?” The stallion emphasized the last word.
Scootaloo answered quickly, “Obviously the most awesome Cutie Mark of them all. Rainbow Dash’s Cutie Mark!”
The stallion chuckled.
“That’s a very creative answer,” he said. “Rainbow Dash is lucky to have such an enthusiastic and intelligent fan. Now, what about the rest of you? What do you think?”
He turned to Apple Bloom and Sweetie Belle. They looked at each other, then Applebloom spoke.
“I bet it’s a school house. Because ya’ll teach ponies about Cutie Marks, right?” she suggested.
“Simple, elegant, straight forward. I do spend much of my time educating. Excellent answer,” he congratulated. “Now, what about you, little Sweetie Belle?”
Sweetie Belle thought for a while more.
Finally, she made her guess. “Maybe it could be a foal without a Cutie Mark.”
“That seems like a very plausible idea. A very intelligent and level-headed suggestion. You’ve all made interesting and revealing guesses. Now, shall we see if any of them prove true?” he suggested.
He tugged at his cloak, and it pulled slowly up and onto his back, revealing a large patch of his flank. The Cutie Mark Crusaders drew in a sharp breath. Even Applejack seemed a bit surprised.
“Ya’ll don’t have your Cutie Mark?” Applebloom asked.
The Cutie Mark Crusaders’ surprise quickly turned into excitement.
“Ohmygosh! This is so great! You can be an honorary Cutie Mark Crusader!” Scootaloo was practically squealing. Suddenly, all of their faces oriented on him.
“Would you like to join the Cutie Mark Crusaders?” This time, it was Sweetie Belle asking him.
“Well?” Applebloom asked.
It wasn’t like this was totally unexpected. He’d been invited to join such groups before. But here, in front of Penny’s grave, and Old Tiller… well, maybe it was time to move on. Maybe he could do something like this, and really mean it. Most adults would think it was silly to think so seriously about something like this.
“Yes, actually, I think I would be honored to join your little club,” he answered.
The children celebrated. They were actually, authentically happy to have an old pony like him join their group. He smiled. Applebloom held out her hoof. Something red and frightfully small was draped over it.
“Here’s your honorary Cutie Mark Crusaders cape!” Applebloom said as she offered him a cape.
“Ah, but, isn’t that yours?” he asked. He really didn’t need a cape.
“Don’t you worry! We got lots more back at the club house,” she told him.
With a tug, his cloak came the rest of the way off and flumped onto the grass at his feet. No sooner had his cloak come off than, with a bit of tugging and twisting (and he thought he heard a ripping noise), they secured the miniature cape around his neck.
They celebrated briefly, before another object grabbed Applebloom’s attention.
“Hey, what’s that in your saddlebags?” Applebloom asked about the curious rectangular object sticking out of his bags.
Ah. That was it. So here he had come again. Full circle, back to the book. He wondered about it, as he so often did – where had those last few months gone? His memory turned to one of their many conversations during that time.
“Penny, you know I love spending time with you, but you really ought to work on your book. After all, it’s your life’s work, and half the pages remain blank,” he had told his mentor and brother.
A distant look took hold in his brother’s eye. “I am just the ink. Everything I write, it’s all already there, on the paper. The paper knows the words it will say. I just guide it toward its destiny. My life’s work, it’s all there. You can’t see it now, but some day, you will. Maybe it will be years from now, or maybe sooner… I don’t know. But you’ll see it some day. I’m sure.” That was his reply. More or less, that was always it.
Meanwhile, the Cutie Mark Crusaders alternated between rattling off questions and celebrating their new addition.
“Well,” he said. “I suppose it wouldn’t hurt.”
The elderly stallion poked his muzzle into the saddle bags and gingerly pulled a large bundle from inside. The bundle was slightly browned with age, and well-worn, but still in excellent condition. It had been well maintained.
“This,” he said, “was my mentor’s magnum opus. It’s a book. Would you like to hear some of it?”
“Rainbow Dash says books are awesome!” Scootaloo exclaimed. The rest nodded.
Applejack smiled and spoke up. “How ‘bout we all go back to the farm and ya’ll can tell ‘em the story there? I reckon it’’ll be getting’ dark in a few hours, and ya’ll might have trouble findin’ yer way back in the dark.”
The stallion hesitated for a moment, then agreed, and they walked under the Fall leaves, back down the leafy path, past the sign, through the forest, and back to the farm. This evening, it smelled a little like home – something he hadn’t had in a long time. Finally they arrived. Granny Smith slept by a recently built fire, and Bic Mac was nowhere around.
In that place, he read to them. They didn’t know it, but they were the first ponies, other than himself, who had ever heard those words.
They sat like that for some time. The fillies were uncharacteristically subdued, though they did interrupt periodically with questions, comments, and generally excited chatter. The book enraptured them. It was the kind of prose that flowed like poetry, and just listening to the sound of the words could put you into a trance. To the stallion, however, it was something more. It was a dream unfulfilled; it was the inevitability of death; it was missed opportunities and lost time. It overflowed with painful and treasured memories. And looming over the entire story was the knowledge that it had no conclusion. For its characters, there would be no happy ending, no chance to look back on their story and understand its meaning. They were stuck forever against a wall of unwritten pages, without a destiny.
Applejack was enraptured by the stallion’s storytelling. There was a kind of beauty and simplicity to the prose that she could really appreciate. More than that, there was something else. Every word he uttered seemed completely sincere, as though they came straight from his soul. For some reason, she felt like he had lived every moment of it himself, and had just now returned to tell them of his travels. Perhaps it was her imagination. One thing was for certain, if every book was like this one, Rainbow Dash might be on to something.
The story continued. The stallion read expertly. When the story was tense, he quickened his pace ever so slightly; when the characters laughed, he laughed with them, using subtle voice inflections to portray emotions. In places, he summarized so as not to bore the fillies. Even Applejack found herself on the edge of her seat at times. And then, suddenly, she noticed the crackling of the fire and the buzzing of insect outside, but nothing else. The reading had stopped.
Sweetie Belle spoke up. “What happens next?”
The stallion shrugged.
“The rest remains unwritten. You shall have to use your imagination,” he told her.
The stallion was surprised. Usually, a foal’s attention span lasted for an hour at most, but these little ones had listened for nearly two now, and were eager to hear more. He had heard somewhere that a truly great book was one that could excite children and scholars alike. Perhaps they were correct. In any case, there was nothing else to be read. Just blank pages.
“There is nothing more. The rest is unwritten.” he reiterated with a hint of bitterness.
“But… you know the rest, right? Why don’t you tell us?” Sweetie Belle asked innocently.
“Tell us!” the others agreed.
Of course, he did know the rest. Penny had told him every little detail. And maybe it wouldn’t hurt to tell them. He looked to Applejack, who smiled reassuringly and nodded. Maybe it would be good for someone else to know. So he continued, from memory. It wasn’t as polished or poetic as the words he had been reading, but it was alive, and filled with years of emotion. If anything, these new words were even more beautiful.
Applejack saw the moment, and knew it was time. Somewhere along the line, the fillies had fallen asleep, and the story was drawing to its conclusion.
“Maybe ya’ll oughtta write that all down,” she suggested. “I know I ain’t really the sort o’ pony who reads a lot, but ah think this’s a darn good story – probably the best I’ve ever heard. It’d be a shame if nopony else ever got ta read it.”
The elderly stallion thought for a moment. She was right. No matter what was in his past, he knew the story and, even if he wasn’t as eloquent as his mentor, he could still do a good job of it. If he had learned anything by returning here, it was that he could move forward, and desperately needed to. He would stop running away and face life. And that was when it hit him. Suddenly, the world came into focus. His hearing and eyesight sharpened, and his mind cleared completely. In that moment, he realized something fundamental.
“Applejack… that was what Penny intended all along, was it not? He left me this book intending that I would finish it.” He laughed. “It’s entirely obvious now. Those last few months he spent with me, talking, telling me about life, teaching me. He told me over and over again about every detail of his book, but never wrote a word of it down. He treasured that book. So why wouldn’t he touch it, unless he expected it to be completed in his absence? By teaching me, he was training me to finish it for him.”
He paused. “But if he wanted me to finish it, then why didn’t he tell me so?”
Of course, the answer to this, too, had become clear to him.
“Penny wanted me to find my own way in life – to search for my destiny myself. He couldn’t make me write the book, just as I can’t give foals their Cutie Marks, but he knew I’d find my way here one day. And for years, I fled from fate, because I couldn’t accept his death. Yet even during that time, I learned wisdom. I’ve developed and matured. I’ve helped hundreds of ponies, and experienced the world in all its greatness. I needed to understand more about life before I could finish the book. Had he asked me to finish the book, I surely would have done so, but I needed to come to that decision myself, or I wouldn’t be fit to write it.”
The foals were asleep, so the elderly stallion spoke in hushed tones. Applejack sat and listened dutifully. ‘After all,’ she thought, ‘sometimes all a friend needs to do is listen.’ The better part of honesty is listening more than one speaks.
The stallion thought for a while before he spoke again.
“I suppose I should have realized earlier. I wish that I had. I’ve wasted so much time, fleeing from reality all these years, when I could have accomplished so much more.” But even as he said it, he knew the statement was wrong. He corrected himself. “No. All those years, I was fulfilling part of my destiny – I was educating foals and improving the world. Most importantly, I improved myself. I gained wisdom; I learned about life. I became who I am today. Wisdom doesn’t come instantly, and without wisdom, I would not be fit to finish Penny’s masterpiece. Perhaps a truly great work of art requires both the vigorous touch of youth and the wisdom of age. “
Again he paused, thinking.
“So that’s what he meant. In those last few months, when he said that he had already finished his life’s work, he was talking about me. ‘My life’s work, it’s all there. You can’t see it now, but some day, you will.’ He said that. And he was talking about me. He spent his last months writing on me. That’s it! It’s the pen and paper. The paper accepts the pen’s words and carries them to the world. He was never really talking about a book – he was talking about me. So I am the paper. And this book waited so many years for me to accept the destiny I’d been given.”
No sooner had he said this than something flickered across his vision, like a momentary flash spreading through the room. It could have been his imagination, but it was worth checking. He turned and inspected his flank. It was blank, just as it was before. He couldn’t help feeling a bit disappointed. Nonetheless, he could tell something different lived in the blankness. Somehow he felt a unique sense of nostalgia, familiarity, and warmth emanating from that spot. For the first time in his life, he felt like he was truly himself, and like he truly understood his purpose. How funny that even though he finally had his Cutie Mark, he was still a Blank Flank.
Perhaps it was the most fitting thing of all. Perhaps the only Cutie Mark that was truly appropriate for him was no Cutie Mark at all. He could continue helping ponies, as he had before, and nopony else would know the difference. Additionally, the emptiness signified the paper. A blank slate, waiting to be written on. And then he remembered his name. A fresh start, a blank slate. Waiting to be written on. In retrospect, everything was plainly obvious. He couldn’t believe he hadn’t understood earlier.
‘Of course,’ he thought, ‘I probably did understand earlier. Deep inside themselves, I think everypony does. I just wasn’t willing to accept it.’
The two ponies sat in silence for a long while. He broke it.
“I wonder… do you happen to have a quill?” he asked.
“As a matter of fact, I got one right here,” she said with a yawn. After rising to her feet, she trotted into the other room and returned with a tray between her teeth. The tray contained a brand new quill and ink well, along with a stack of clean parchment.
“There. Just for ya’ll,” she said after setting down the tray. “Why dontcha stay the night here at the farm, Sugarcube? I gotta go take Sweetie Belle and Scootaloo back home. Don’t wanna get ‘em in trouble with their parents.”
She nudged them awake.
Sweetie Belle yawned. “What? Is the story over already?”
Scootaloo rose to her hooves, half asleep and shambling like a zombie, and the two sleepy fillies followed Applejack. She ushered them out of the room.
“Applejack?” he called after her.
“Whatcha need, Sugarcube?” She poked her head back through the door.
“Thank you so much. You’ve done a great deal for me, and I don’t know how I can repay you,” he said, and bowed his head in thanks yet again.
“I told ya’ll before, we Apples are always happy to help a pony in need. Ah don’t help ponies for what they’ll do for me. Ya’ll don’t owe me nothin’,” she said, then left without waiting for a reply.
“Well, thank you all the same,” he called after her.
And with that, she was gone, and he began to write.
Epilogue
Tabula Rasa entered a sitting room in Canterlot Castle.
“Princess.” He nodded at the already seated princess.
“Ah, my fine advisor. How did your visit to Ponyville go?” she asked, sipping at a steaming cup of tea.
“It went fairly well, as you should know, your Highness. Your underlings were fairly crawling all over the place,” he stated. “You told Applejack I’d be coming, didn’t you?”
She kept a straight face very effectively as she answered. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. I’m sure she gave you the same warm welcome she’d give to any pony who came to visit. Besides, she’s the Element of Honesty. How could I ask such a thing of her?”
He smirked. “She had a quill and ink prepared. I am ninety-nine percent certain that pony doesn’t even know where to buy quills and ink. Your mischief is evident,” he informed her.
“Well, as far as mischief goes,” she retorted, “did you use your royal authority to intimidate a schoolfilly?”
He snorted. “She was an extremely unruly schoolfilly. It was very unpleasant business, all around. I didn’t enjoy it. Well, maybe a tiny bit,” he said with a smirk.
These many years you’ve been my playmate, yet mischief doesn’t suit you, old friend,” she said with a genuine smile. “At the heart of it, you’re really quite serious.”
“I could say the same thing about yourself, fair Princess,” he replied. “I suppose it’s fair to say that neither of us is very honest.”
She put on her poker face again. “Not at all, not at all. I’m a princess. I would never dream of practicing such roguery in my own kingdom. Besides, duplicity is unbecoming. Now, have you begun writing that book yet?”
“No roguery, indeed,” he scoffed. “Applejack never needed my help in the first place, did she? You sent me to Ponyville to make me face my past. You knew this would happen, didn’t you?”
She feigned shock. “I wouldn’t dream of it. I’ve no idea what you’re talking about.”
“You’re meddlesome,” he said. His tone was playful.
“You wound me, advisor,” she answered. “The affairs of each and every pony in my kingdom are my business. It is not meddlesome to give one’s children a push in the right direction.”
“Well, just the same. Thank you for meddling,” he said.
She beamed at the elderly stallion. “You’re welcome. Now, shall we have tea like we used to? It is almost evening, so I shall fetch Luna. It is traditional to celebrate when a pony earns his Cutie Mark, is it not? I thought you would prefer a quiet affair.”
“You are too good to me, Princess,” he replied.
“I only do what any friend would do in the same situation. Besides,” she said with a wink, “it’s your destiny.”
