Long, long ago, before the time of the Three Tribes, the dragons ruled the world. The earth trembled at their passing, the oceans pooled in their claw-steps, and the heavens receded before their flames. The creatures of the plains and the forests and the mountains trembled in shadows, and foraged for scraps among what the littlest of the great beasts left behind.
Then, one day, the dragons fell to squabbling, and the fires of war scoured the land. The skies darkened with smoke, and great claws split the mountains. Finally, the battle-cries fell silent, and the shattered remnants of the dragons slunk into the dark places, sending terrified creatures scattering into the light. The mightiest of the wyrms, Ancalagon, landed in the center of the barren, blackened desert where once had been their greatest city; lifted his greviously wounded head; and roared, in a voice that echoed throughout the world:
"Finished is the Age Of Dragons! Let the one who can answer my riddle rule the next."
Not long afterward, the queen of the gryphons touched down to stand proudly in front of Ancalagon's muzzle. "I am the fastest of the creatures," Pierces-The-Heart cawed, "quick of body and quick of mind; as first to reach you, I will be the one to rule. Speak your riddle, Dragon King, that I may answer it."
Ancalagon stirred, uncoiled, and whispered, with the voice at the end of all things:
I am just in time, and just for today.
I am just finished, and I am just begun.
I am just over the horizon, and I am just within reach.
What am I?
Pierces-The-Heart thought quickly, then smirked and said, "You are a breath of air. Your power sustains us no matter how far or near we fly, and for as long as we live; yet each breath is meaningless, quickly forgotten when the next comes along. Where is my prize?"
Ancalagon fixed a baleful eye upon her. "If you seek to breathe me in, bird, breathe deep!" he roared, and exhaled a blast of flame. When he was done, the ground where she had stood shone in the night and flowed like water.
The next day, as soon as the earth had cooled back into rock, the king of the minotaurs strode proudly up to Ancalagon's muzzle. "I am the strongest of the creatures," Stands-The-Mountain bellowed, "indomitable of body and mind. As the first to brave your heat, I will succeed where Pierces-The-Heart failed, and be the one to rule. Speak your riddle, Dragon King, that I may answer it."
Ancalagon repeated:
I am just in time, and just for today.
I am just finished, and I am just begun.
I am just over the horizon, and I am just within reach.
What am I?
Stands-The-Mountain snorted in laughter. "What are you? You are a dragon. Where is my prize?"
Ancalagon fixed a baleful eye upon the minotaur. "You speak truth without understanding, cow. Do not waste my time!" he roared, and struck with his claw. When he was done, the ground where the minotaur had stood was scarred with chasms deep beyond sight.
A week later, the king of the diamond-dogs climbed from one of those chasms to the surface near Ancalagon's muzzle. "I am the wiliest of the creatures," Finds-The-Gem said. "I have listened with the ears of the earth, and journeyed to steal the deep wisdom of its secret heart. Unlike the others, I came prepared, so I shall be the one to rule."
"We shall see," Ancalagon said, and repeated:
I am just in time —
But Finds-The-Gem interrupted him with a gloating smile. "Did I not make myself clear? I already know your riddle."
The great dragon narrowed his eyes. "What, then, is your answer?"
Finds-The-Gem gave Ancalagon an exaggerated bow. "Your Majesty, you are the weather. Ever-present yet ever-changing; eternal yet transient; and with dominion over the ruined surface of the world, which is why the new age shall flourish with us in the depths. Where is my prize?"
Ancalagon fixed a baleful eye upon the burrower. "If you label me the weather, dog, act not surprised when I am fickle!" he roared, and inhaled a mighty breath. When he was done, the canine — and all the land around him — had vanished into his cavernous maw and down his gullet.
A year and a day later, a small and plain pony approached Ancalagon, her head bowed in respectful silence.
Finally, the mighty dragon opened one eye and stared.
"What," he rumbled, "no boasts?"
The pony cleared her throat uncomfortably. "No, Great King," she said. "I am here to beg your aid."
Ancalagon snorted; she flinched, and almost fled. "Who are you to make such presumptions?"
"I am Eats-The-Grass of the northern lands, Great King. I am not quick nor strong nor clever, but I had no choice but to come, because my herd is suffering. With no ruler, the land slowly dies."
"Then answer my riddle," Ancalagon roared, freezing her to the spot, "or die with it!"
And he repeated himself once more:
I am just in time, and just for today.
I am just finished, and I am just begun.
I am just over the horizon, and I am just within reach.
What am I?
Eats-The-Grass closed her eyes for some time.
"You speak of being just," she finally said, voice faint and trembling, "whether near or far, whether come or gone, whether passing or eternal. Yet the one truth of life is that all creatures make mistakes; and no matter the judgment, for justice one must begin with forgiveness. You are mercy."
A long, slow laugh came from the great dragon's throat.
"The others have named me as I am, pony, but you are the first to name me as the world needs me," he said, carefully lifting one claw and tracing the first Mark upon her flank. "Carry my gifts back to your tribe, and rule the world as we ought to have ruled."
The ponies would go on to do just that, but those are tales for another day.
