Some might say that for anypony who can live an eternity would see the passing of time as trivial, something with little worth pondering. But this was not so, every second felt like a second, each minute felt like a minute, and hour to an hour, and day to a day, a year to a year. Time was an ever present nuisance that bit and nagged like a swarm of mosquitoes, telling everypony that it wouldn't be there for long. How right it was. Even with no imminent death in sight, one would always curse himself for missing moments or not spending enough time in them. But the worst of it all, finding out your time was worthless.

The first three years appeared promising for Weaver, there was so much to do and learn. Weaver had read countless and books, and, true to his word, wrote books and scrolls of his own, to be stored in the royal archives until they could come up with a proper way to introduce him to Equestria without panic of an epidemic or carnivore ponies. But, at the beginning of the fourth year, Weaver was no longer convinced. He had given them knowledge collected over the course of his fifty-two hundred year lifespan, showing them pathways of magic and science, showed them evidence of countless realities, but in return all he had was shelter, food, and constant prodding at the end of needle. He had lived longer than anypony here had ever dreamed of, and in all that time, never had he felt so used and alone. On a few occasions he found himself wishing he had never met Luna in the void, thinking back fondly even.

In the void, all he had were monsters that he could easily fend off, dreams of an infinite number of universes to play in, and his meals weren't so controlled. He knew what to expect there, and the many times he returned to the void with Luna and scientists to study it, he found himself tempted to run off in infinite blackness, maybe even return to his hollow kingdom. In Equestria, they were doing everything they could to make him comfortable and happy. In other words, they pitied him.

If there was one thing Weaver despised, it was pity. He loved that there were other ponies to talk to, even if they reeked of a vegetarian diet, but the fact he was kept from harm and monitored all the time had slowly eaten away at him. He had attempted to leave the area he was confined to a few times, but he was always stopped. While he knew he had enough power to get past any obstacles they had set up, he didn't want to hurt anypony. But these last two years were putting new thoughts in his head, questions.

Were they just using him for his knowledge? Were they really looking for a cure? Were they ever going to let him leave? Was he just a pet now? That last one was utterly ridiculous to him. He knew Celestia's opinion of him was still the same as when they first met. She was understanding of his social disability and predicament, but the tension was still a fine line. Could this be a degrading revenge to her? With that last question, and the pain of his infected areas, were pushing him over an edge. He began to perform petty, childish pranks on the "Lady White" as he still called her. Harmless things at first, such as water in her shoes, causing cold wind to blow into her room at night, hiding her crown. But it never really had an effect on her. Then he upgraded to bolder things, heating up her shoes to painful levels, making it hail on her bed, and one time, absolutely smashing her crown to powder. With that last prank, Celestia had caught him in the act.

There was a long argument full of shouts and screams, even flares of magic and aggressive stances. But by then Luna had caught wind of it and stood in between them. Weaver, under advisement from Luna, willfully let himself get escorted back to his room while the sisters discussed a course of action. Luna managed to dissuade Celestia's desire for retribution and convinced her that Weaver was just suffering from cabin fever. It was then that Celestia agreed to let Weaver have free roam of the palace grounds, just as long as he was closely watched.

But even that had it's limit of enjoyment. Weaver wasn't allowed to hunt the animals, had to keep clear of any guests, couldn't practice any high-power magic, and was not supposed to get out of his guards' sight. So of course when the fifth year came around, he had had enough of it and broke all four rules at the same time.

* * *

The three pegasus guards panicked when Weaver disappeared right before their eyes. Two went to search for him while the third went to tell Princess Celestia. Waver in the mean time just wanting to hunt, just one little squirrel, no one would miss it. He had only turned himself invisible, knowing that the guards would panic and split up, meaning this small area would be overlooked for a few minutes, that would be time enough. He had already spotted the squirrel he wanted and crouched down low to the ground to sneak up on it.

One hoof after another, he silently approached the unsuspecting creature as it was busily trying to crack open a walnut. Weaver was glad he had left his clothing in his room, or else its thrashing would have alerted the squirrel before he got within ten feet. The creature was just a within pouncing distance now, and Weaver coiled his legs like iron springs, just about to snuff it out and enjoy a raw delicacy.

"I say, what are you doing, sir?"

With a yelp, Weaver sprung into the air, lighting himself on fire, a defense mechanism he had developed a long time ago, scared away the squirrel and whipped around to see a unicorn stallion and mare. He looked around for a moment, trying to figure out what to say or do at this moment in time. He mentally cursed himself for not hearing their hoofsteps. The past years seem to have been murder on his defenses.

"Do... you need help, sir?" the mare asked, backing away from the smoking stallion with a terrified expression.

Weaver suddenly realized he was on fire and quickly shook it off. Smiling nervously, attempting to come up with something to say, unwittingly exposing his teeth. After wanting out, he found himself at a loss for what to do when confronted by strangers.

"Hi?" he managed to say. Smacking himself at the dull simplicity he seemed to be exuding at the moment.

"That's some very... interesting dental work," the stallion as friendly as he could, approaching Weaver.

Weaver found himself backing away. He had no idea why, he was a king, a fighter of monsters, powerful enough to stand against the princesses, though not fully tested, and yet he was a stumbling idiot in front of these two, soft-hooved unicorns. He cleared his throat and tried to put up his best front.

"I am Weaver Impossible, a guest here at the castle," he said, his ears turning red a giveaway he was nervous. Stupid ears.

"I see," said the stallion, placing a hoof to his chest and nodding his head. "I am Fancy Pants, and this is my lovely companion, Fleur-de-Lis."

"Charmed," Weaver said, bowing slightly to the mare. He took note that her name sounded different from most of the other ponies.

"What is wrong with your fur?" the mare managed to squeak out.

"Just a bad case of the mange," Weaver lied with a dismissive wave. "Don't get too close."

"Yes, well...," Fancy Pants started, thinking of a way to turn the conversation. The bare patches were quite revolting, but that was hardly an excuse to forget formality. "... I've never seen an earth pony with the ability to light himself on fire before. Not that I doubt your capabilities, mind you, but... are you wearing some sort of magical artifact."

"Nope, it's all natural," Weaver said with a proud smile. That seemed to impress both unicorns. He continued. "Was born like this, and as for my teeth... let's just not talk about that, younger days of stupidity and mistakes, know what I mean?"

Fancy Pants nodded. "Indeed. But, as you get older, you wish to relive each moment, just to feel young again."

"Oh, absolutely," Weaver quickly agreed with a few quick nods. He was lying, he hated everything about those early days of his development. Not even after fifty-two hundred years did look back with even a moment of fondness. Youth and stupidity were just that to him. As such he had always preferred the company of older ponies, the ministers, the advisors, the generals, and his father the king. "But just take life by the throat and throttle it for all its worth, then grind the corpse into product and eat it."

Fancy Pants laughed, Fleur turned a whole new shade of pale.

"Hold on a moment," Weaver said, noticing the mare's discomfort. "Let me cover this up."

The two strangers looked on in amazement as countless plant fibers were carefully extracted from the surrounding foliage, just a few from each plant so as not to damage them. The fibers wove and twisted together around his body until he had a stunning green tunic that covered the bare patches. He even took fibers from flower petals and wove them into the edges, to ad more color and charm. as an added bonus, it smelled good.

"This better?" Weaver asked with a hopeful smile.

They just nodded, unable to express their amazement.

Weaver's ears drooped as he jumped to conclusions. "Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to show off, it wasn't my intention. I just thought you would rather not look at the sores."

Fleur was the first to speak. "Are you a new student to her highness, Princess Celestia?"

Weaver rolled his eyes at that name. "If anything, I'm teaching her a few things. Please tell me that didn't sound like a sick innuendo, I hate those things. Have you read the latest Daring Do? Page two hundred and seventeen, paragraph four... that was utterly unnecessary. Children read those things for crying out loud."

Fleur managed a giggle as he jumped subjects. "So then, why are you here? And to that, where do you come from, that accent is simply marvelous."

Weaver was taken aback by that. She liked his accent? Maybe that was why Dr. Needle and some of the other female doctors would listen to his ramblings.

"Not really from anywhere. Been moving around a lot. I'm sharing my knowledge of the world with the princesses. As for the accent, I guess I've developed it over the course of the years. As for the magic, I really can't say, guess it's just a gift."

"How long have you been here?" Fancy Pants asked, truly intrigued by Weaver.

"Five years," Weaver said before realizing what he had been asked.

"Five years?" Fleur asked in an amazed voice, placing a hoof on her chest. "We come here at least once a month, surely we would have seen you."

"The mange was really bad when I first arrived," Weaver quickly lied. He hoped he was convincing. Even though he wanted to rebel against Celestia's rules and be treated with the respect entitled to his status as a king, he didn't want to shame her. He would do his best to keep her reputation clear.

"Perhaps your not used to the Equestrian strands of mange then," Fancy Pants thought out loud.

"Most likely the case," Weaver smiled. "I was never so sick in my life. Really not a story to tell in front of a lady though."

"How kind," Fleur smiled.

"So you've been inside the castle all these years?" Fancy Pants asked.

"I've been allowed to wander the gardens for a while now. I'm getting better as days pass. Today I managed to escape my... what's a good name for ponies who are supposed to watch you closely to make sure you don't get hurt while you wander about? never mind, I escaped them and decided to have a little fun. I was going to catch a squirrel for a sn... small game, heehee, then you snuck up on me and I caught on fire."

"Oh, I'm sorry," Fancy Pants chuckled a bit. "I hope we didn't spoil your day."

"Are you kidding?" Weaver deadpanned. "You're the first ponies I've talked to outside of a controlled environment in all five years I've been here."

"That would drive me mad," Fleur put in with a wide-eyed expression.

"More than isolation, actually," Weaver agreed. "I was once completely alone for a... few years, but being here, poked and prodded by doctors, watched over by guards, not allowed out of a certain area, the same faces day in and day out, it's... it's..." Weaver sat down upon the ground and sighed looking down at the ground, letting his silver mane fall down over his face. "I've done things I'm not proud of just to convince Lady White to let me come out here. I really don't want to feel like a medical experiment, even if this is really important to my health. I want to feel normal. Even though I know that can never be."

"Who's Lady White?" Fancy Pants asked with a curious tilt of his head.

"The white princess," Weaver said, looking up with a sheepish smile. "I have a hard time remembering names, even when screamed a million times a day."

"The paces?" Fleur asked, trotting up and placing a hoof bravely upon his shoulder. She pulled back when he shied away from her touch.

Weaver nodded, rubbing his shoulder where she had touched him.

Fleur's expression changed to one that could only be translated as motherly. "We have a colt with the paces as well, Weaver, we completely understand."

"They've all said that they understood," Weaver hissed, standing back up and shutting his eyes tightly. "But all they give me is pity. The absolute lowest emotional stimulation. All I've wanted is to be treated like fellow pony, not some fragile chalice. I'm sure your son feels the same way."

Weaver turned and started to leave, but Fancy Pants stopped him with a few words.

"We do not pity you, Weaver Impossible," he said with conviction.

Weaver turned around looked him over, searching for any sign he was lying.

"We fund many charities and programs," Fancy Pants said as he stepped up beside Fleur. "Three of which being research of the paces, and its effects, along with the psychology of it. What kind of ponies would we be if we didn't try to understand our son or the projects we support?"

Weaver looked at them and then back at the castle. He gave them a warm smile. "I need to get back before they send out the whole guard. Thank you for the conversation, hope we can do this again, and perhaps under better circumstances. Please say hi to you son, his brother and three sisters for me."

Fleur and Fancy Pants were shocked once again.

"How did you know we had five children?" Fleur asked.

"I can smell them on you," Weaver said behind his back as he trotted towards the castle. Leaving the impressed couple behind.

None of them knew that four pairs of eyes had been watching them through the cover of a hedge. Princess Celestia and the three guards. She had masked their scent with a spell, knowing many of Weaver's abilities, and observed the whole conversation without drawing attention. She then realized something about herself Next Chapter: -7- Rising Sun, Nashing Teeth Estimated time remaining: 15 Minutes