Those Who Wait
It is said that Good Things Come to Those Who Wait. Over the course of time, I have heard that very phrase spoken by and in many different tongues. Not only by ponies; the zebras use it, the griffins as well. It is one of the few things in this world universally regarded as wisdom by so many sentient races, regardless of culture. The interesting part is how they interpret it. You see, different tongues speak of different times. When the Zebraharan tongue utters the words, it speaks of many months or even years, while those same words spoken through a beak will rarely mean more then a day. It is not in the nature of the griffin to wait, where the zebras regard patience as a virtue they all strive towards. So even though it is still wisdom, a truth, it means different things entirely.
It all depends on how much time you have, really. On this rare occasion, I allow myself to sigh as I place my hooves on the table before me. The obsidian shackles adorning my wrists rattle with the tell-tale pitch of time itself.
You see, who or what speaks the words defines them. Promises only have value when made by those with both the power and the will to see them trough. Likewise, a saying such as this one can be warped into an entirely different meaning by the speaker. A homeless mule living of nothing more but the coat on his back can say it, and it will ring with melancholy. It will talk of years, decades even. It will remind you of a soul with hope of a brighter tomorrow. Perhaps it will sound bitter, annoy you. Only bring up the image of a fool to believe in such folly. Yet it will sound undeniably downhearted.
A rich aristocrat with a finely brushed mane and stylish clothing utters the words, and it will refer to a business strategy. To careful placement and the movement of funds. Most likely, mere months, rarely more than a year is called upon when a tongue seasoned with fine cuisine forms the words. It’s a matter of what you can afford in both money and time.
In a way, this is why I spend so much time thinking about that phrase. I suppose I find it interesting how many different views there are on it. Waiting is more literal to one than to another. The mule might indulge himself in it, only waiting and waiting for things to either end or change for the better. The aristocrat will live his life, perform his daily routine, but will consider it waiting as long as he doesn’t perform a certain action.
Yet some things don’t have that luxury.
My eyes are drawn towards the candle on the table before me. After a brief spark, a small flame flickers to life and warmth seeps into my hooves. I smile as the little ember before me plays with the shadows in the small, dry room, making them dance over the brick walls. I briefly pause my pondering to bask in the presence of my sole, fleeting companion. The flame plays and dances above the candle, not caring that it is burning up the fuel that allows for its existence while also imprisoning it in its grasp.
As brief as our encounters are, fire is my only friend here. Every fortnight, the candle springs to life and performs a miraculous dance with the small flame. Not only does it make for my sole company, it is my only indication of time. The flame still performing its fragile dance before me, I shut my eyes.
Good Things Come To Those Who Wait.
My eyes open to darkness. The lingering hint of heat is the only thing left of the gay dance performed on the table before me. Another sigh escapes my lungs.
Flame does not wait. It consumes, that is its very nature. It is a feeble thing, yet it burns brightly and intensely, licking its surrounding ever in search of fuel to spread and extend its brief life. Oh no, fire knows not of patience.
If it would lend its licking tongue to speech, and uttered the saying, what would it mean? Would it speak of mere moments? No. Fire would speak of not itself, but of others. Flame is a wild thing, incapable of holding back. Were it to acknowledge the words as wisdom, it would be merely out of awe and respect of something it can never hope to reach.
Yet fire will never utter the words, for it is incapable of doing so. It is, truly, far more interesting to look at those who actually use the phrase, and see what they mean by it. Because if the difference between fellow equines can already be so immense, imagine if spoken by a goddess. The Alicorns, in their eternal existence, believe in those words perhaps more than any mortal ever could. Endless life, an existence not limited by years, decades or eons. A constant factor in this world, as given as earth, fire, water and air itself. And they wait.
The mule walks a noble path by waiting. It is a great risk that he chose himself. He has but one chance at life, only once can he give his years to a goal. The choice to spend them waiting is as risky as it is commendable, for it is the ultimate belief that something will change. The aristocrat will be noted for his patience. His careful approach might earn him a solid reputation as a safe business partner, worthy of investment. But for the Alicorns, it is nothing short of a crime.
Power beyond comprehension, and an infinite window of time to use it in. Yet they sit idly on the thrones they fashioned for themselves. You see, as much as I like the phrase, I have but one problem with it.
It is utterly untrue.
If good things came to those who waited, then how is it hard work and dedication are behind progress? How come it is with the sweat of your brow that you usher in a new age? The Alicorns, in their utter refusal to use what has been bestowed upon them, are the embodiment of the phrase. They have been around since the beginning. They have waited for as long as the flow of time has enabled them.
The only time they will spring to action is to preserve their ability to idle. Ironic, isn’t it? Only when progress spreads like wildfire will they use the power equal to the gods to banish what they deem a threat to their divine wait. They are fools in their refusal to usher in a new age! With their power, they could change the world, yet they, they-
A brief flickering of red rune stones catches my eye. The ancient words in celestial tongue remind me where I am. Of course, of course. I calm myself, and the red light slowly fades into blue, the celestial tongue now consoling me with words of long lost compassion.
Good Things Come To Those Who Wait.
I open a single eye to greet my only friend. The flame does not return it, for it is again engaged in its perpetual dance. I cock my head, a rare occurrence in this small confined space. The obsidian shackles binding my forelegs together click and clack as I place my hooves on the table and rest my head on them. I stare into the flame, the heat forcing tears into my eyes. Yet I remain still as it dances its dance and consumes its host in the process.
‘You must find it strange. To see me waiting and waiting every time we meet.’
The flame does not answer.
‘Is it a concept so alien to you that you cannot comprehend it?’
The flame dances.
‘Why is it that you visit me? A jest? Out of pity? Out of compassion?’
The flame flickers.
‘…Out of love?’
The flame dies.
Good Things Come To Those Who Wait.
Sometimes, it is not your choice. Sometimes, waiting is all you can do. We all know the tale of Nightmare Moon. A millennium in solitude on the moon. Sometimes I wonder what it must have been like for her. Did she thrash wildly for hundreds upon hundreds of years? Did she spend every waking moment planning and plotting her revenge? Had she, deep within herself, already repented all her sins before she even returned? Did she have a friend, like I have a flame to keep me company? Whatever transpired on the moon, she waited. Believe me, there is no other option.
That is perhaps what bothers me the most. To waste your own potential is a sin, but one I can find it deep within myself to tolerate. However, to actively prevent others from using theirs and forcing your religious belief in waiting upon them… That is what makes my blood boil. I twitch my ears at a humming across from me. Opening my eyes, I dismiss the dim red warning in celestial tongue. It quickly returns to blue and fades back into the wall.
The Alicorns are creatures of harmony. They believe that with their power, they themselves can upset their precious balance. The only time they will use their power is if the scale is tipped. When the harmony they believe in is threatened, then, and only then will they act. Like how the sun goddess acted against her very sister when she fell. Laughable, isn’t it? Because not only are they creatures of harmony… they are beings of waiting. Of infinite patience. If your entire existence revolves around waiting, idling and transcribing, you want to believe it will earn you something.
Yet she fell. An everlasting creature of patience fell. That is what their waiting earned them. Duress, strife and disharmony. But did they see reason? Did they see the faults in their logic and convictions? No, the goddess of the sun merely banished her sister, her own flesh and blood. For the sake of harmony and the ability to silently observe, she locked away her sibling who wanted change…
Open any history book and you will find the Alicorns never stood for change. Oh, sure they are prominently featured in the pages of them, but never did they allow things to differentiate. The second age, ponies ruled themselves. They were hard times, with the earth ponies, pegasi and unicorns practically at each other’s throats. Yet did the Alicorns step in? In the end, the ponies only caught their attention because they thrived and began to affect the scale.
The Alicorns only sit on the throne because the ponies begged them. The yearned for their wisdom and power. Yet what did they get? They might as well have put a statue on the throne. I grind my teeth, sparks madly dancing across my face. I calm myself before the rune stones can utter another warning. I click my tongue and lean against the wall behind me.
Good Things Come to Those Who Wait.
My fleeting companion once again joins me in my grim existence. With a quick motion of my hooves, I fling my shackles over the candle and draw it closer. The flame awkwardly glides and slips over the obsidian surface, as if it’s unsure how to handle the material. That’s just it, isn’t it? Flame has no use for obsidian. If it cannot burn, why does it exist? I stare into the flame as it wildly flails around, yet locked by the confinements of the candle. I raise a hoof, and slowly wave it over the flame. It almost lovingly licks the limb, yet it doesn’t dance with it. I wave my hoof again, this time in the opposite direction. The flame lashes at me, bites me. I retract the limb and turn it around, small embers sizzling in my coat where it had burned.
Fire is an unpredictable thing. It lends itself to warmth and illumination. It watches over you like a loyal dog. Yet give it the opportunity, set it free for just one moment, and it will bite you. It will consume you whole. Feed it too much, and its hunger becomes insatiable. In a way, fire is chaos. That’s probably why the Alicorns hate it so much.
You see, chaos doesn’t fit in with their lovely little plan. Chaos upsets the balance they uphold. Where they manifest their mortal superiority with their ceaseless wait, chaos has no such concerns. It lashes around, spreads like the plague, never holding back. We all know the story of the spirit draconequus. Chaos incarnate, a creature not limited by the realm of reality. Yet it is part of the same balance as the Alicorns. Without chaos, the scale would tip, law and order would reign supreme. Sounds lovely, doesn’t it?
Not to the Alicorns. It is a common misconception that the Alicorns stand for order. They stand for balance; both order and chaos are part of that. They simply use order as a tool to uphold their balance, they don’t wish to see it win over chaos. So instead of ridding the world of the blight of discord, they allow it to exist. Imprisoned in stone, forced to wait, wait, wait like them. You’d almost think the Alicorns have a sense of irony.
Even after insufferable eons locked away in stone, Discord understands what the Alicorns fear. To live an everlasting, immortal life is exciting. It should be filled with change and progress, for how else would you remain sane? Many comparisons can be made between the draconequus and the candle between my hooves. As brief as it’s time was, it spend it to the fullest. Wildly grasping around, looking for fuel to sustain itself. Performing a feeble yet perpetual dance like a mad jester at a funeral.
The candle has burned up and the flame sizzles, shocked to find its fuel gone. It weakly searches for a new source, anything it can use to extend its life. I raise a hoof to my mouth and take several strands of my coat between my teeth. I lower the hoof again, the hair remaining where it is. I lower my head and present the dying flame with the hairs of my coat. It carefully licks them, testing to see if I’m presenting it with more obsidian. After recognizing my offering as precious fuel, the flame instantly consumes the hairs. It shines bright for an instant before dying completely. I lean back again.
Even when it’s dying, fire does not know of patience. So I wonder… what if fire was forced to wait? What if it has no choice? What if, like Nightmare Moon and Discord, it is forcefully locked away? Something so alien to the concepts of waiting and holding back that it cannot even comprehend them. What would it do if it had no choice? That, I feel, is something interesting to think about. A strange thing, perhaps. Seeing as fire is a phenomenon, not something you can imprison.
But then again, so is chaos.
Good Things Come To Those Who Wait.
I may have been too fast in saying I have but one problem with the saying. Because as much as it is utterly untrue, that is something confined to itself and only affects those who utter it. What I loathe about it is that it implies action yields you nothing. One might argue the flame would be better off with patience. If it held back, preserving its fuel, it could last much longer. But what kind of flame would that be? It is a feeble thing; it cannot afford to spend its fleeting existence waiting. It must dance, consume, and change. So must we judge the flame for what it is? Is its wild, rash hunger a bad thing?
I think not. But it doesn’t matter what I think. Those Who Wait hate fire, and in their hatred it was decided that the flame would be frowned upon. Look around, no race loves the flame. Sure, they make use its warmth and illumination, but by foolishly attempting to control it. Trying to make slaves out of that which should be free. They fear it, and rightfully so. They attempt to live around the flame instead of with it. Confining it, limiting it, only feeding its immeasurable hunger with just enough to keep it alive.
They attempt to force it to wait. To hold back. But in that they are wrong. Fire simply cannot be made to wait. And as such, they see fire as something wrong. Because in their failure to control it, fire consumes that which they hold dear. Fire dances with that which cannot keep up. Fire quite simply does what lies within its very nature; it lives. Yet in the mortal eyes, it destroys. It kills, it ends. It is something to be feared, something evil incapable of reason. They are understandable conclusions, but ignorant ones nonetheless. If they were just to see past what Those Who Wait imposed upon them, if they were to try and understand flame rather than enslave it, maybe they would see.
Yet that hope is foolish. Flame cannot hope to be understood. So it doesn’t. It lives, it breathes, it consumes. I let out a sigh. There are only two places where flame is allowed to be itself. One is in the pits of Tartarus. That only adds to the belief fire is something evil. It is used to punish and confine things Those Who Wait deem dangerous. An insult to something that dares to live, change, thrive.
As for the other place… I look at my hooves and hold them close together. After an infinity of nothing happening, I lower them again and slump back against the wall. Forget about the other place.
Just then, the candle springs to life again. I raise an eyebrow as the flame begins its dance once more. That is… too soon. As much as it is my sole indicator of time, I can judge fortnights by myself now. How could I not? After all this time? But the flame did not wait a fortnight. The flame came too soon. I lean on the table and inspect the flame up close.
‘What is it? Why did you come now?’
The flame dances.
‘Is something wrong? Did something change?’
The flame sparks.
‘Is it… time?’
The flame smiles, then dies.
I lean back against the wall again. Then I do something I haven’t done in a long, long time. Something I was sure I forgot how to do, something I never thought I had a need for again. Something that upsets the runestones surrounding me, confuses them. Their powerful enchantments don’t have a clue as to how to react to this alien experience.
I laugh.
Good Things Come To Those Who Wait.
I too, wait. I wait and wait and wait. In doing so, however, I change. Accompanied by my thoughts and the flame, I change. I ponder that which I loathe, and those who blissfully indulge themselves in it. Every time the flame greets me, it is greeted by a different face. And in turn, the flame changes. Every fortnight, it appears fractionally brighter and livelier. Slowly but surely, the flame is becoming what it once was. You see, fire wasn’t always what it is right now.
Allow me to tell you a story. We all know of The Elements of Harmony, Nightmare Moon and Discord. They colour Equestrian history in every hue mortal eyes are capable of processing, yet there is so much more. As defining as those tales are, they barely scratch the surface of the events that shaped the land as it is today. Let me go back to a time before all of that. Eons before Nightmare Moon would contest the sky, when the Elements of Harmony walked free and chaos was a part of life.
Even then, they waited. Of course they did, it’s all they know. Things were surprisingly similar to current day. That only goes to show the lengths to which Those Who Wait will go to stop change. Thousands upon thousands of years, and the world barely looks different. That is, apart from one thing. There is one thing that changed, and in doing so, everything did. Allow me to tell you the story of The Elements.
Not the Elements of Harmony, mind you. Though they did walk the lands in their pure forms, not simply as manifestations through represented souls. This is the story of The Elements. Air, Earth, Water. And of course, Fire. They too walked the land. Their story shaped history more than any mischievous spirit or changeling queen could ever hope to accomplish.
Back then, Air was a friend to all. She allowed the pegasi to fly, she allowed every being to breathe, but most of all, she listened. And that, Those Who Wait loved. They could communicate with Air, talk to her, make requests, and Air would listen. Yes… Air was definitely loved by both Those Who Wait and every living soul.
Water never was that open. She kept to herself, providing as much life and freedom to the creatures of the sea as Air did to those on land. Those Who Wait respected her and even had an agreement with her. But a fraction of the water on this world would lend itself to drinking, and in turn the sea would be left alone. Water was happy with this, and so was everyone else.
Earth… He was even quieter then Water. He only wanted to sleep and be left alone. The Earth ponies needed to grow food, and Earth would lend himself to that. After all, the ponies would be doing the hard work. Out of fear to upset the balance, Those Who Wait never challenged Earth or even asked him to help. Their requests would most likely have fallen onto deaf ears, but their utter refusal to ask in the first place only shows how little they’ve changed over the course of millennia.
And then there was Fire.
He never was loved, wasn’t even respected. He was only hated and feared by Those Who Wait, and from that, by every other living soul. Did Fire care? No, of course not. He did not have it within him to care. All he knew was to live, to breathe and to consume. He had no time to stop and think about petty concepts such as reputation or love.
As much as Fire was hated, he was tolerated. A necessary evil. His warmth and illumination were needed to sustain life and keep monsters at bay. You see, the sky was barren back then. The sun and moon did not provide the safety and warmth they do today. All the world knew was a perpetual twilight.
They needed Fire to survive, yet they never tried to understand him. They attempted to enslave him, imprison him in torches and lanterns, testing his everlasting hunger to keep him barely alive. But Fire was what he was, and his patience could not be tested. So he consumed. He burned, and in the eyes of the mortals, he was evil for doing so. For hundreds upon hundreds of years, things did not change. Fire danced his dance, haphazardly switching between providing life and warmth and burning those foolish enough to test his hunger.
Until one day, Fire experienced something he never did before. Because as much as he could not love, as much as the concept was alien to him, he was loved. A single soul, a mare, of course, could it ever have been anything else? She lived with the flame instead of around it. She did not hate or fear the flame, but adored it. She did not simply feed him to keep him alive, but to allow him to live. Fire was enthralled. What is this? Someone who understands him? And in his curiosity, Fire did the unthinkable. He hesitated.
He abandoned his dance for fuel, now performing a new dance. I can best describe it as a waltz, really. For Fire no longer sought things to burn, he sought knowledge. He wanted to know who this mare was, why she loved the flame. Why she was different. Fire still did not fully understand love, but he knew one thing; he liked it. So Fire performed a new dance, solely for the mare who loved him. A duet between a mortal and an Element.
The world was in peril.
Fire had left them. As much as they hated him, they needed him. But Fire was busy. His hunger was satisfied by his new dance. However, Those Who Wait got word of what was going on. The absence of Fire tipped the scale. Warmth was hard to come by, the only light came from a meagrely star filled sky. The monsters normally held back by flames now roamed free. Every mortal understood how much they needed Fire, and Those Who Wait did so too.
They attempted to summon him, to ask him to return. But no manner of dry fields or dead wood would lure out the flames. The sparks merely sighed and died, refusing to summon him. For once, Those Who Wait were at a loss. The attacks were getting worse and more widespread and even in all of their immortal strength, they could not hold back the chaos that was flooding into their precious land. When even Those Who Waited despaired, news came. News of Fire.
He had been seen. Dancing more lively then any mortal ever witnessed. In a small secluded hut deep in dark woods, Fire had found a lover. Endlessly, he would burn for the mare, who in turn danced with him, feeding him not with fuel but with love. To Those Who Waited, it was a sight of horror. As much as Fire was a mad, unpredictable thing, they had found a place for him in their balance. This mare, by showing him a path he was incapable of walking before, upset that balance. She was a threat.
So Those Who Wait did what they rarely do. They acted. They restored the balance by eliminating the threat. Now, they reasoned, Fire would return to what he was. All would be well in the world. An assumption both foolish and ignorant.
During the dance with the mortal, Fire learned what he never understood before. He learned what was never meant for the likes of him, he learned to love. And Those Who Wait had taken that away from him.
Those Who Wait reasoned he would return to normal. To being a dangerous and unpredictable thing, but a thing they could use. Oh, how wrong they were. Fire returned, yes. But he no longer danced. He no longer sought to still his endless hunger. He sought revenge. When the torches lit again, hope did alongside them. Hope quickly turned into despair as the flames were no longer satisfied with dry wood. They yearned for flesh. A single spark would escalate into a blaze, which turned into an uncontrollable, insatiable wildfire. Fire killed, Fire destroyed, Fire consumed.
Those Who Wait had created the monster they had always feared.
The wildfires that roamed the land left no stone unturned. They burned down entire forests, villages, cities. All in search of Those Who Wait. Fire roared for revenge. The other elements tried to reason with him, but Fire was too strong. Air was consumed in whole, causing a flash fire that scorched entire kingdoms. Water could not hope to come close, evaporating almost completely at a single glare from Fire. Earth reasoned he could stop his brother. After all, stone and dirt did not burn. Yet he too underestimated Fire’s rage. Before Earth could utter a single calming word to his elemental kin, he melted.
In his blind rage, Fire brought this world to the edge of extinction. Only when the very planet itself threatened to succumb to his boiling blood, Those Who Wait finally confronted him. He instantly threw himself at them. All the searing flames in the world concentrating in one place, diving at their eternal throats. Those Who Wait did what they had always done, they waited. This only enraged Fire further. He roared and roared, summoning every flame in a blind charge. And only then, when Fire seared so hot the very fabric of reality threatened to melt, Those Who Wait acted. And acted they did.
Fire had not underestimated them. No, for he never thought about his revenge. He merely acted. But Those Who Wait proved as endless in power as they were in patience. In an instant, Fire was banished from this world. They did not destroy him, for they still needed his flames to sustain life. Instead, they devised a much better plan.
Fashioned from the dead body of his brother Earth, they made a prison. Yet Fire still roared in his anger. Even from the outside of his corporeal cell, the heat was too dangerous for this world. No, the prison could not remain here. One of Those Who Wait stepped forward. She offered to become the warden for Fire and his prison. With the same might she had used to fashion the prison, she lifted it from this world. It was raised and raised. And then raised even further. She did not stop raising it until it had found a place among the stars. Then, Celestia looked around, and saw light. The prison was providing the light and warmth they used to rely on Fire for. And so she became more then the warden of the sun, she became a goddess.
Good Things Come To Those Who Wait
And there you have it. The story of the elements. How Fire was imprisoned inside the sun. However, the story does not end there. Because even though the Alicorns feared Fire enough to line his prison with powerful enchantments in the Celestial tongue that would react to his rage, and even though in Fire’s small, confined prison they still bound his limbs together with obsidian shackles, they made one fatal mistake. They gave him a friend. Every fortnight, a small flame would visit Fire of its own accord. For hundreds of years, this baffled Fire. Until he finally understood.
It was the mare. The mortal that had danced with him. Every fortnight she would visit Fire and dance with him. Every fortnight she would lend a fraction of power to Fire. And over time, Fire grew stronger. It took an immeasurable long time, but Fire slowly returned to what he was. Mind you, even though the time it took was so long, so incredibly long, Fire counted every time the flame visited him and lent him some strength.
I smile as the candle before me bursts into life. The fire sears hot, the flames almost reaching the ceiling of my prison. I close my eyes and add another fortnight to my imprisonment.
‘Seven-Hundred and Eighty-Two Thousand One-Hundred and Forty-Two.’
I open my eyes again. The candle has burned up, but the flame is still there. I grin and jump off the small bed, the entirety of the prison shining in mad red lights in Celestial runic language that have exchanged their stern warnings for desperate pleas. I walk up to the flame for it is smiling at me and beginning to lovingly lick my limbs as I approach it. Gently, I kiss the flame.
Instantly, I ignite. My obsidian shackles moan and screech before I smash them beneath my hooves. I take a long, deep breath, incinerating the interior of the prison cell. I aim my horn toward the wall and blow it away in a blast of fire. Oh how I missed that. I spread my wings and prepare to fly through the newly created hole that now revealed the boiling interior of the sun. Before I do so, I turn to face the rune enchantments I know will now be sending a warning signal to Those Who Wait.
‘Hello Celly. Did you miss me?’
