The Prince, The Smith, and The Lightning

by Achaian

Rating: teen
Tags: Other, Lightning Dust, Slice of Life, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic
Length: 4875

Short story about Lightning Dust and how she is perceived.

Experimental story, read at your own risk.

Lightning Dust is a pegasus who has seen very little light. While her past is obscure, that doesn't stop other ponies from their conjectures about her motivations for being so relentlessly, savagely driven- for being who she is. They must be careful in their judgments, though, for they can fall into the same traps that she did...

Picture by the spectacular ClexYoshi.

Published 2012-12-26 23:00:02 UTC
Last updated 2012-12-31 16:10:25 UTC

The Smith

The Smith

There was a humming in the tavern, and the humming was quite different from the roar and rumble of the train that Blue had been accustomed to- not that he disliked it, but the presence of ponies other than Tarnish (who had been nothing but a source of annoyance to him) was a welcome thing. Definitely a fortunate change. He contemplated another mug of cider at the bar, the gentle hum of conversation flowing around him. At least Tarnish had opted to stay outside; he was probably imagining another harebrained way to waste Blue’s time when the train got going. But for now, Blue would sit and enjoy the change of atmosphere as the general low murmur lulled him into thought.

The tavern didn’t appear to be located in the most populated of places, but it had an unusual amount of revelers for it being a waypoint on a rail-line. The geography consisted of hills and fog for the most part, one mountain stretching nearly vertically up beyond the sight of those constrained by the ground. He had noticed some of the other buildings at the stop, but only in the most cursory sense of the word. His only care when he had jumped off the train had been to get away for a while, and so far getting away had consisted of drowning himself in a few lonely pints. He was fine with that.

Behind him, revelers passed around and talked in loud voices and quiet murmurs, not caring who heard them. With the stopping of the train their number had nearly doubled, but curiously the tavern was not close to full- it had an unusually large capacity for such a remote location. He was fine with that, too- as long as he had some time to collect himself amidst his long travels. He didn’t pay especially close attention to the doors slamming open and slowly closing. He did not care that the tavern’s collective attention was seized, nor did he spare a glance to the pegasus mare in uniform that had stormed inside and forcibly taken residence of a table at the corner. Intentionally or not she had displaced a small party with her angry self-directed glance; He did not notice Tarnish come in some moments later with an observant eye on the thunderous newcomer.

“I know you have a lack of respect for decency, but you could have at least tried to get some of that coal dust out of your coat before you appeared in public.”

“I’d rather be dirty than named after rust.”

Tarnish took a stool next to Blue’s, his chromatic silver coat nearly shining compared to the dark-black coal-stained mess that, if looked at with a squint, might appear to be solid black. Tarnish dislodged his hat from his horn, his short mane rarely seen now apparent. He was infinitely more comfortable than Blue with the atmosphere, despite Blue’s tiredness. Tarnish called over the bartender and ordered some wine and resolutely did not look at Blue while he turned his glass this way and that, observing the way the light played through the acrid swift liquid.

“Why are you in here, Tarn?” Blue asked, grumbling-sighing to himself- he knew he was taking the bait.

“I take it you noticed the general disturbance earlier, and the mare at the epicenter of it?”

“Not especially.” Blue drained the last of his current pint.

“Don’t you have the least interest in her predicament? The least curiosity?”

“Nope.” He grabbed another pint.

“A shame. Some of us like to bother with the important things in life.”

Blue nearly dropped his pint, and turned to send an incredulous look Tarnish’s way. This was, after all, the same “engineer” whose first self-imposed task had been to invent a spell to keep the coal dust and smoke from fouling his coat. By his reckoning, Tarnish’s order of importance was that of a somewhat snobby, civilized “intellectual”- that’s not to say that Blue didn’t enjoy his thinking, but he had a rather different definition of intellectual than the one Tarnish would postulate. He also had doubts about the authenticity of the reasons Tarnish had given for working on a train, too, but he wasn’t about to pry. He had enough to mull over.

“I have heard things about her, interesting things, but what I saw was more interesting.” Tarnish continued, leaning back on his stool against the bar and giving a lazy gesture after sipping his wine.

“I saw her fall from the firmament… like lightning.”

“What?”

“Caelum. Firmament. Sky. Heavens. Whatever you prefer. And she was falling from it.” He leaned back a little more, staring into the rafters for a moment as if he could see her fall again. “It was a magnificent descent… with the clouds rumbling, star-tides breaking, flaring like a comet… beautiful and terrible…”

“Are you here to drink or compose poetry?” Blue was at the end of Tarnish’s attention, barely in his view, but still Tarnish turned to him.

“What do you think of her?” Tarnish repeated. “Why did she fall?”

“Ah don’t know.” Blue grumbled, grabbing another ale. “Why should I bother judging her?”

“Because you are left in a bar for a few hours with nothing else to do, and you are nearing the bottom of your fifth mug.” Tarnish replied, waiting expectantly. Blue sighed and swiveled around, deciding in the end he had nothing better to do- and perhaps he could work out some of Tarnish’s cursed persnicketyness in the meantime. It would ease the journey afterwards- maybe. His life had had a way of defying expectations, and usually not in a pleasant way.

“Is that her?” Blue asked, motioning over to the unaware mare in the corner that happened to be in a noticeably sour mood. Her disposition was centered on the median of the rounded table, an anger slicing with daggers at something only she could see. There was weariness behind it- a disappointedness- but whether it was sadness or regret or deeper buried hatred was unidentifiable. Nevertheless she had repulsed all others and had achieved what had to have been her desire, a sulking solitude of smoldering introspection.

“Indeed it is. I heard from a wandering pegasus that she had a friend, once, and she did something terrible to their mutual detriment.”

It tugged at the memory of the mind, something then and now coming together...

“This reminds me of a story.” Blue shifted, drawn reluctantly out. “But if I tell it, you hafta listen and shut up for a while I’m telling it, else I can’t tell it.”

“Alright; sounds fine.”

“This is an old Appleloosan folk tale…” He shifted into his final position against the bar, holding a mug out of comfort or habit, not noticing the hint of derision that Tarnish displayed at the mention of Appleloosa.

“Way up in the mountains, deep in the rolling hills and chas’mous valleys and the snowy mountaintops, there was a smithy and a smith who lived in it. He was well-renowned for his craft, and a fine job he did with it, and he had a wife and a colt and a filly and he was happy. His colt was a coal miner, and while the smith lived on the height of the freezing mountain, he descended into the great black depths of those mountains in search of the coal and fine metals that would that feed the fire and feed the craft for his father. One day, buried deeper than the roots of the mountain, lower than the sea, he found a great wondrous chunk of metal that shone like the evening stars and the moon and the sun put together. For days he dragged it up out of the murky depths, up the snowy mountain slopes, to the top of the world’s pinnacle- that was what they called the forge, so high it was- until at last he had drug it before his father, and nearly died of exhaustion. His father was overjoyed at the sight of the star-metal, for they had no other name for it, and once his son had recovered the father promised the son that the first thing he would forge out of the metal would be an unbreakable pick that would ease the son’s adventures infinitely. So the son returned below the roots of the mountains with the promise of an easier existence in his heart, and found his burdens lighter because of it.”

“And the smith returned to his forge, and prepared his tools to make war on the star-iron. He knew it would be a vast challenge, the greatest he had ever faced, for in his first bout with it he could neither bend nor chip nor scar the metal no matter the intensity of the fire he turned on it. For days he stayed at the forge, not minding the burns or the hunger that rose from the flesh nor its cries of agony demanding sleep. He fought only with the star-iron, and he relegated all other matters of this world to let themselves be… No matter the consequences.”

“And the day came that his wife came to him, and begged him to stop, if not for his own good but for hers, for she had grown weaker. He ignored her with a heart harder than the metal he vainly raged against, and when she touched him he railed and cursed blindly against the distraction he would not see, and she, seeing the futility of his state and the impossibility of his work, resigned herself to a love denied and left him atop the mountain to whirl and hammer at the metal until the day he passed into Elysian fields.”

“And the day came that his daughter came to him, and she was no longer a filly but a blossoming mare, great in grace and beauty. She had before left the mountain, but she had returned to visit and seek his blessing to be married, and when she arrived she found him at his forge, as she expected. She came up to him, asked him graciously, was surprised and fearful of his lack of answer, and waited patiently for his response. For a day and night’s circumference she waited- rephrasing questions nicer and more pleading all the while- until in desperation she moved between her father the smith in his work, and he threw her aside with a growl. She, too, left the mountain, and she was not heard from again.”

“And then his son came again from the depths of the tunnels below the mountains…”

He ground his teeth, jaw locked shut, intensely staring at the unaware mare. His speech was low and growling.

“And he came up to his father, confused, looking everywhere, and asked ‘Father, where is my sister?’”

“He didn’t reply.”

“And then the son looked around and asked, ‘Father, where is my mother?’”

“He didn’t say a word.”

“He didn’t even notice his son walking up to him; the son was amazed and terrified by the fury at which he whirling-hammered at the metal, with great laborious strokes crashing down on it, his coat singed and burnt, and at last his father dropped out of sheer exhaustion, and his hammer slipped out of his grasp, and his son moved to pick it up for him, but his father leaped up to block and for the first moment the father looked away from the damned star-iron…”

“And in his eyes there was such hate as the son had never seen, had never thought possible, and the father screamed: ‘I will forge this metal for you, even if it slays me in the process!’ He seized his hammer out of the sons shocked hand, wrenched it away, and swung with abandon at the eternal metal. The son stayed for a while, hopeful that the metal would have mercy on the father, but there could be no such thing. In time, the son too left in despair, and wandered away into other lands, but the father remained.”

“And some say you can still hear him screaming and striking at night up on the world’s pinnacle, breaking himself against the metal that could not; following his passions into the darkest places out of corrupted love for his craft and son."

“She is the father, I see…”

He stopped, intense gaze scrutinizing her.

“I can see it in her eyes.”

The Prince

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.”

The Lightning

The Lightning

The bartender hadn’t noticed them at first; they were just another pair of questionably sober inhabitants of the tavern’s bar. As time had passed and the business of work had died away, she had found time to listen surreptitiously- to glance a glimpse of the stories told with ill-concealed fire, fervor, and terror. Still they had not realized her eavesdropping, and she was fully curious to the conclusions they would come to about Lightning Dust, the local star fallen from such grace.

She had heard things about Lightning Dust, could still hear them whispering in shadow and gloom, concealing themselves from all others out of suspicion and want of safety- except from her. She was just a bartender, a barmaid really, and she never talked. What could she know? She heard them now, talking amongst themselves.

I heard she was reckless. Where does she come from? She doesn’t seem to want any sympathy. Why is she even here if she wants to be alone? She was always so driven on the training clouds. Hadn’t she always been a little rude? Not really, just a bit insensitive. I think she got demoted. What for? I heard she got kicked out. I think it was for reckless endangerment, but I’m not sure. She can’t possibly have cared for Rainbow Dash, especially after what she did to her friends! I don’t know about that, you didn’t see them. It could have been anything. You could be anything, what do you think it was?

So many words, and it was all so much noise, and she could not stand to listen to them any longer. She was much more interested in the smudgy black and the silver ones’ discussion- although it was quickly becoming an argument, they had long before cut straight to the heart of the matter.

“She’s no prince.” Blue was angrily asserting. “Ah don’t think that makes her any better, but her anger and passions could have only come from a fiery source. Cold greed makes for cold fury.”

“It was greed and aspiration. She had no love; she only ever used those that called her friend for her own ends.” Tarnish was no less certain, and he was just as vehement in his analysis- though they both were quiet. “Anger may come in many forms, and all it takes is a little fury for it to ignite out of ice.”

They had been arguing and telling tales for hours now; they had reached the highest paragons of their logic; their processes had played out to the end and they were set and certain in them, but still she suspected. No doubt Lightning Dust had done atrocious things, but perhaps there still remained a story to be told… A middle way there was for certain, the only challenge remained in finding it- and finding if it was the way the Lightning had struck.

Perhaps fate can arrange for that story to be told.

The chilling and arduous discourse refused to echo in the air, passing as quickly as it was spoken all in vain about the lightning. She had heard many things about the bolts of thunder that ravaged the sky over the years. Some say that the thunder fell from the clouds, and some postulated that it rose from the earth from electrical friction, and she knew that, sometimes, both were correct.

Other times, it must meet in the middle- for does it not both rise and fall simultaneously at times, as strange as it might be? Could it perhaps start in the middle? She found it an alien sensation that they could be so certain in the absolute dimensions that they had assumed. For no doubt, Tarnish was growing colder in his argument, and Blue was surely heating up.

Perhaps fate would find a compromise, but she would have to be that fate, she realized with a sigh of the mind. These two would find no peace in each other, so her intervention would be a necessity. She would be subtle, though, there was no need to involve herself- while she quite enjoyed listening, she found her own thoughts’ expressions often seemed lacking compared to others. All that remained was for her to arrange the situation.

Unfortunately, that would not be an easy thing to arrange quietly. She had three very volatile, intoxicated (although Lightning Dust had not touched her lonesome drink in all the breadth of time) and unpredictable ponies on her hooves. She would have to tread lightly and carefully in the blaze and chill; directing the lightning without a rod to attract it would be impossible. A plan of action would have to be composed, and an unnatural sense of haste came with it.

“You’re not even listening.” Blue growled, insinuating much as his posture became aggressive. “She could not have been so friendly to some and not have some feeling for others, despite how her drive destroyed her.”

“Just because deceit is rare does not mean she couldn’t have possessed it. And you do not understand what I am saying. She never loved them, any of them. She only used them as a means to a greater end, and all her friendly gestures were only ever gestures to her.”

“She let her drive get the better of her! You’re determined to plaster your damned nihilistic thinkings on her.”

“And you are determined to paint her as the loveable epic hero with the tragic flaw.”

The bartender thought it sad that both of them should be right.

It continued for a while, with she at the bar puzzling unobserved for a solution that would not draw attention to herself. If they were going to come to a conclusion that they could agree upon, then they would have to come upon it themselves- and together. Those naturally inclined to argue often refused solutions that they have not made their mark on, even on reasonable solutions.

Their tempo increased, the volume and potency of their dissonance only increased, it was louder- louder! Heavier and grinding! Full of hatred now, no more resemblance of the slightest of a civil discussion could be found; at last she could take it no longer and a quiet voice stopped them cold-

“Why don’t you ask her?”

The two turned to look at her, surprised, incredulous and offended at the diminutive interruption, and then Tarnish voiced his mind.

“Why would we?”

The bartender said nothing; she knew she could not fight them; she turned and left the depressed reality behind. She would climb to the roof to seek remorseful solitude, but they could not know that. They could not divine The Lightning’s pains, much less hers.

For a while, Tarnish and Blue said nothing, but wondered confusedly and heatedly about the mostly-silent bartender, until with finality and focus they turned again to the battle that had been raging.

The Smith was in his wrath again, beating at the immutable metal with fury, his sympathy for The Lightning long perverted past any recognizable form- he had quite forgotten about her entirely. Just as he had fallen, so too had The Prince, who had never cared about The Lightning- she was only ever a tool for him. And they were both so furiously and coldly fixated that neither of them noticed Lightning Dust fly away quicker than a flash, gone without a trace and with such great haste that she nearly blew away those in her path.

The Lightning had flashed away; it was really only there for a moment and only a moment’s chance they had had; fate passed them by and by their own choosing it had gone out of sight and perception; its inner intricacies and wonders were forever a mystery as The Prince and The Smith succumbed to bitterness and turmoil, sickening hatred and chaotic war. Lightning Dust had torn out of the tavern in an eye’s shutting, and neither bothered enough to notice whether she ascended into storm or crashed into the ground or flew off into the sunset. What had happened after that neither Tarnish nor Blue could tell you. Only fate knew.

… And she kept her silence.