Loqui Veritatem In Caritate
“He drew a circle that shut me out—
Heretic, rebel, a thing to flout.
But Love and I had the wit to win:
We drew a circle and took him in!”
―Edwin Markham, "Outwitted"
~
With one last puff of smoke, the stallion finished his pipe. He tapped it against his weathered forehoof, ensuring the embers had cooled to his satisfaction. After tucking it beneath his fraying robes, he took a fresh, clean, deep breath. Then, he reached into the pockets of his vestment and withdrew a rusted key.
As he entered the chapel, his wizened eyes beheld his destination. The altar was just as he had left it the evening prior. Humming an ancient melody, he made his way down the aisle. His colorful robes flowed behind him as he moved.
Scattered hymnals littered the pews. Fewer and fewer in recent years, but enough that it made his heart sing to see them. As time wore on, ponies found new ways to worship. No matter. He would be here as long as he was needed. He knew all too well that what traditions he treasured would likely die with him. That realization stole no joy from moments like this.
Once he made it to the altar, he withdrew a box of matches from his vestment. With slightly shaky forehooves, he sparked a fresh ember. For a moment, he grinned down at that burning light, thanking Solaris for his bounty. Next, he brought the flame low, marrying it to the stick of charcoal incense awaiting the sacred fire. The two cleaved unto each other. A sweet-smelling scent rose from the altar towards the skylights.
Laying a forehoof over his heart, he whispered, “May the fire of Friendship light the way.”
As the smoke filled his senses, he moved to the next task. The gold-handled brush lay inside the silver chalice. The vessel was still full of the fresh river water he had filled it with the night before.
He submerged the brush in the chalice. Then, he brought it above the bouquet. The arrangement of white lilies drank in the holy rain he provided from above. He silently praised Galaxia for her beauty and grace as he watered the flowers. Then, he murmured, “May the waters of Love sate our hearts.”
Finally, he turned to the sword on the edge of the altar. Across its blade were ancient runes written in a long-forgotten language. With practiced precision, he raised the blade high. He paused, feeling the magic and power coursing from blade to pommel. Though he would have had to squint to read the hallowed runes, his heart and mind picked up where his eyes failed:
“May we fight against the Darkness with the forces of Magic and Harmony. Above all, through all, and in all, in the—”
“My, my, Mister Waddle!”
Behind him, a serpentine shape coiled through the mist. A pair of red irises, followed by golden sclera, joined his side.
In his early days of his priesthood, Mister Waddle would have been terrified to have Old Scratch himself join him at the sanctuary. In his youth and vigor, he might have even turned the consecrated weapon on the beast, ready to defend his congregation.
Now, he was used to it.
“All these years, and you’ve never missed a syllable. How quaint.” The Serpent hovered before him, crossing lion paw over eagle talon. “Though—” he looked over the empty pews— “I have to say, it makes no sense to engage in such a performance without an audience.”
Setting the blade down, Mister Waddle heaved a sigh. “Discord, it is not a performance, as I have—”
Discord waggled a claw. “Yes, yes, yes, I know. Far too well. But!” His eyes lit up with an unmistakable glimmer. One that reminded Mister Waddle of where his last pipe had gone… along with most of his mane. “What’s the fun in all this pageantry?”
Discord snapped his fingers. The pews filled with lollipops. A rainbow menagerie of candy jumped up and down in their seats. They giggled and cheered with half-mouths across their gooey centers, spewing sugar and taffy and Celestia knows what else everywhere.
“Discord!” Although he scowled, Mister Waddle chose his words carefully. “I just polished those pews! Please, take them away!”
“Oh? Not the usual suckers you want joining you for morning service?” Discord snickered. “Very well, then.” He clapped paw and talon. The lollipops disappeared.
Mister Waddle smiled. “Please, could you do an old stallion a favor and clean up the mess, too?”
Regarding him with narrowed eyes, Discord crossed his forearms, then muttered, “I suppose, since you cleaned up last time.” A wry smirk replaced his minute look of contrition. “And the time before that. And the time before that. And—”
“Please, Discord.”
With another burst of magic, Discord clad himself in a janitor’s uniform. A mop and bucket appeared in his claws. He dipped the mop in the bucket and hovered over to where the audience of candy-folk had marred the seats and floor. Whistling a jaunty tune, he drew the mop across a row of pews. Rainbow paint washed over oak and cherry.
Sighing, the priest made his way over. “You know that’s not what I meant.”
“Ohhh?” Fluttering his eyelashes, janitor-Discord glanced over his shoulder. He applied a fresh coat of rainbow across the back of the pew he was currently “cleaning”. “But I thought your kind liked rainbows.” He pointed at the priest’s vestments. Upon the robes, the two alicorn sisters stretched their forehooves towards a rainbow containing the Elements of Harmony.
Chuckling, Mister Waddle shook his head at the Chaos Spirit’s antics. “I’ll give you credit where credit is due, Discord. You at least pay more attention now than before.”
Scoffing, Discord plopped the mop back in the bucket. “Than before? P’shaw. As if there was ever a before, Señor Waddle.” A pair of thick, black mustaches sprouted on both of their muzzles. Stereotypical, wide-brimmed hats completed the look. Discord twirled his mustache with a wicked grin. “The entire time I’ve known you, I’ve always been that delightfully whimsical thorn in your side.”
The hat didn’t fit right, and the mustache was rather itchy. Better than the goatee and monocle from last time, at least. “Always a thorn, yes. But one less prickly than usual.”
Their costumes disappeared with another snap. “Hmm. Well, I suppose I’ll have to try harder then.” A sweep of Discord’s paw, and the pews were free of rainbows. Instead, the hymnals took flight. The white books, bound in golden thread, sprouted wings and horns as they glided above the seats.
Shaking his head, Mister Waddle made his way back to the altar. While he felt the eyes of the draconequus following him, he sought to finish his ritual.
After taking hold of the blade and pointing it skyward, he completed the last prayer. “May we fight against the Darkness with the forces of Magic and Harmony. Above all, through all, and in all, in the spirit of the Sisters and their Ancestors. Amen.”
When he finished, he looked up to see that the alicorn hymnals had perched on the pews. Discord was looking around, a puzzled frown replacing his jovial grin or prankster sneer.
Mister Waddle blew out the incense, put away the watering brush and jar, and returned the sword to its resting place. “Something the matter?”
Discord snapped his claws, restoring the hymnals to their natural state. For a few moments, he stared Mister Waddle down.
Then, Discord floated over. “Why do you still do this?”
“You know why.” Mister Waddle took his seat in the front pew. His joints protested as he sat down, a pained grunt betraying his smile. He patted the seat beside him.
Rolling his eyes, Discord joined him. His serpentine form scrunched as he sat beside the old priest. “Luna’s been back for years, you know. Almost as long as I have been reformed. Surely, you can’t be serious about this anymore.”
Mister Waddle looked up at the skylights. “What do you mean, ‘surely not’?”
“It made sense when it was just Celestia. Well, somewhat.” Discord brought his lion paw to his muzzle and groaned. “Worshipping a being you could schedule teatime with makes no sense. At least other species have the excuse of not being able to see the things they build altars to.”
Eyes fixed on the above, Mister Waddle replied, “Who said it was worship? Reverence is not always worship.”
Discord snorted. “Incense and prayer count as worship in most other worlds.”
“Well, it’s never counted here. And I don’t know of any world but this one.”
Discord face-pawed, muttering, “Somewhere, there are other beings listening in on this conversation and laughing about it.”
Despite his years, Mister Waddle heard him. “Then let them laugh.” He traced the pockets of his vestment. When he withdrew a pocket watch on a broken chain, he saw that they had less than five minutes to go. “It bothers me none. Nor does it my congregation.”
“Your congregation?” Discord whooped a belly laugh. His patchwork limbs gestured to the empty pews. “Take a look around! Nopony, and no one, is here in the mornings anymore. Evening services? Maybe. The occasional holiday? Well, sure. Celestians are still Celestians on Hearth’s Warming and the Summer Sun Celebration, aren’t they? But the rest of the year, they’re—”
“—Still Celestians.” Mister Waddle turned to face him. “And you are still Discord, Spirit of Chaos, the Prankster God, the Serpent of the Forest.” He let his words linger between them. “At least once a week, you come here, and I tell you the same things. If you were a pony…” His smile fell. “I would think there was something on your mind.”
An anvil appeared atop Discord’s head. “Now, what would make you say that?”
When the weight magicked away, Mister Waddle nodded up towards Discord’s head. “Even without the visual pun, there are still some things an old priest knows.” Turning his attention back to the skylights, he cleared his throat. “Now, it’s almost time. If there’s something you wish to get off your chest, I recommend you do so now.”
Silence reigned between them, interrupted only by the slow ticking of his pocket watch as one day wound into another.
Then, Mister Waddle witnessed it. It must have been the thousandth—no, at least the ten thousandth—time he had witnessed it in his priesthood, let alone his entire life. Still, it was evermore brilliant. Evermore magical. A ritual far beyond that which his puny Earth pony hooves could exact, even with the wisdom of his years.
Together, they watched as Princess Celestia did what she was born to do. The thing that, if she didn’t have her courage and conviction and will, would have left their world lost and cold and broken. To have this heart, this soul, this undeniable force of Being, was something that the last Celestian would revere to their dying breath.
“You know…” Discord punctuated their silence carefully, almost gingerly, as if he knew he would spoil the ritual unfolding before them. “She… she meant a lot to me… once. I wonder if…” Discord sighed, then shook his head. “If coming here is some… atonement for it.”
Mister Waddle glanced at him from the corner of his eye. He opened his mouth to speak, but thought better of it.
“I don’t think it will ever be that way again. Not after what I did. Not—not after what I became, but…” As he trailed off, Discord’s eyes traced the skylights, then the altar, then the pews. “Tell me. Did this place ever bring her comfort… during…”
“Yes…” Mister Waddle fidgeted with the pipe beneath his vestment. “It did.”
Discord’s ears flattened, then flicked, before he faced the priest fully. “Well… Old fool or not, I guess you were there when she needed you, right?”
“Yes. All of us were, back to the Day of Her Banishment.”
Discord’s eyes traced back up towards the skylights.
Though he felt something welling in his chest, Father Waddle—the last priest of the last Church of Equus—bit it back. There was a majesty in mysticism. A journey far too personal to belong to anypony. Or any draconequus.
Instead of beginning that morning’s prayer, he merely sat beside a god, and watched a miracle happen anew.
Author's Note
This is the shortest story I have ever been satisfied with. Thanks again to the great folks on Bean's Writing Prompt Discord server for their feedback and help with this little story.
As always, thanks for reading! Comments are appreciated. Happy New Year! Here's to better things in 2021. Peace be with you. 
