The Prince, The Smith, and The Lightning

The Prince

Tarnish was silent for a while as he considered the story that Blue had told. His voice had been low and loathing, especially near the end… Yes, Blue had a great deal of loathing for the smith, and it had been a magnificent tale. But Tarnish couldn't let Blue show him up like that; he needed a story that would not only match but exceed that which Blue had recounted- it was in his nature not to be beaten, not to be exceeded, and certainly not by some nopony hailing from the Appleloosan Mountains.

So he sat on his booth for a while, swirling and sloshing his glass about lazily, thoughtfully, as Blue lost himself in silent observation of the lightning that had struck, left blackened and scarred the radius around. There had to be some story, some parable that he could recollect that would be superior to the old tale. After all, Blue was just some rogue out of the mountains; what did he know about high light and retribution?

Tarnish could do better than that- or so he told himself.

“That was a fine tale.” It was a grudging admittance; they both knew, but Blue took no satisfaction in it. Not in his brooding. The mood in the tavern had dimmed in the passing of time; the humming in the tavern was dying away, and still the mode of silence lingered around the newcomer.

“I can do better.”

Blue growled, low in his throat, and said- “Do it then, so I can have some peace.”

Tarnish assumed a position similar to Blue’s, leaning against the bar and taking his time to order his thoughts as Blue stared into nothing. Tarnish, though wary of the hard look in the eyes of the pegasus across the way, looked at her for inspiration- and in the instant before he began that he thought he could see a sinister similarity in the way she was looking at the table and how Blue was looking at the floor.

He drained his drink, set it down swiftly on the bar and abruptly began.

“In olden times there was a prince. In his youth, he had made a foolish challenge of his father’s authority and so had been banished into the desert-lands of the south, only accompanied by his uncle, who was the father’s brother. An old and venerable one he was, wise and knowledgeable- a fine companion. The prince, still young and vehement, one day seized on an idea that would allow him to reclaim his honor in his father’s eyes: He would retrieve an artifact of great worth and potency from a dragon’s hoard that had once been the pride and symbol of the kingdom and its might. His uncle warned him to go with caution, but the impatient prince rushed off anyways. He traveled a great distance into the deserts, with many misadventures on the way- partially due to the lack of his wise uncle. For a strenuous time he wandered among the sands, intent on finding the lair. After the harsh and unforgiving journey through the desert sands, at last he arrived at the great sandstone cave that housed the ancient dragon. He turned the first bend in the cave, and he was struck with incredulity to find his uncle there waiting for him. At first he was fearful and defensive, for their parting had not been on the best of terms, but the uncle merely laughed and said ‘It took you enough time to get here. Did you really think I would let you run off alone?’”

“United at first, they wandered cautiously through the wind-worn tunnels of rocky sand until they discovered the entrance to the grand cavern that housed the slumbering monstrosity, curled like the meanest tiger amongst his gold and jewels. With an observant eye and soft steps, they crept around the dragon until the prince spotted the artifact lying perilously near the clutches of the dragon’s vorpal claws. Impatient as he was, he was clever enough to know that he could not simply seize it from the monster. As he quietly sought a solution to the clawed riddle, his uncle offered to create a grand illusion with his magic to distract the dragon- on one condition. The prince would first seize the artifact and carry it out of the cave, and then come back and assist his uncle, for his uncle was not powerful enough- and neither was the prince- to both maintain the illusion and simultaneously escape. The prince agreed, and the uncle summoned up a conniving set of lenses that he threw over the dragon’s eyes- and it was not long at all before the dragon raged into waking and sliced and breathed multitudes of fire at things only it could perceive as the uncle strained to maintain the illusions. The prince wasted no time grabbing the artifact, and ran as fast as he could out of the caves.”

“But the prince did not turn back; he didn’t even glance.”

“He was so determined and so fixated on returning the glory that had been denied and swept away from him that he thought that any measure would serve for the ends that he had chosen- and from that came the phrase ‘The ends justify the means.’ He ran without looking back; he ran the longest distance from the singeing sands of the south all the way back to the very throne room where his promise of ascension had been broken, shattered like a mirror into malignant shards. He entered triumphantly, no hint on his face of the horrible deceit he had committed. The father looked down on him as the prince veritably shone with pride, the artifact held and all in attendance in awe. “

“…Except for the father. The father held a warm countenance, but he had a knowing look hidden in the shadows of his eyes. He took the artifact up and placed it before the throne, and then commanded all in attendance to leave except for the prince.”

Tarnish stopped, and there was a tremor in his voice now as it lowered in the dim environs, trembling, but only to the most perceptive listener.

“And the father turned to the prince, and he asked him where his uncle, the father’s brother was. And the prince turned, and great tears flowed from his eyes…”

Tarnish’s visage hardened and the trembling hardened into something fierce, and his voice became lower still, chilling.

“And they were malicious lies, those tears.”

“The prince said the uncle had been lost to the flames and claws of the dragon he had seized the artifact from, and despite his many efforts he had been unable to save him. The father turned away, and the prince took an evil pleasure, for the father appeared to have bought the story and would rapidly succumb to the grief that was now overtaking him. The father ascended to the throne, took hold of the artifact and raised it above his head, turning around- and he had a rage and fury in his eyes unmatched by any the prince had seen before.”

“He threw it to the ground with all his might, shattering it into a thousand pieces before the horrified prince. And the prince’s horror did not last long, for it soon turned to a dread fear as his uncle moved out from behind the throne and took his place next to his brother. The uncle had saved himself after all. The prince moved in terror, but he could not run from those two, eyes shining with wrath as they cut him off like fate itself, like valkyries of vengeance.”

“The prince shielded himself before them, but nothing could shield him from the words that struck him like divine tempests of retribution, and the father said ‘You could have brought great honor and forgiveness upon yourself, but in your haste you have forgotten what it means to be forgiven. Because you have not loved my brother, you have not loved me, and therefore you are unworthy.’”

“And so the prince was banished again into bitter hatred, and he was not heard from again.”

It was silent in their zone, the cracking torments of minds the only sound observable to those who dabbled with what had been left unsaid. Tarnish and Blue gazed at she who was yet unheard; she whose tale was not told. They stared out at her, for they were loathe to look at each other.

"He... She does not love those who love her."

“She is a prince.”