“Hello, Tirek.”
Deep in the bowels of Tartarus, the frail centaur stirred. “Celestia?” he croaked.
At her name, the princess strode into the light. “It has been a long time.”
“Near five centuries, if I’ve kept count,” he said. “Of course, it’s hard to keep count when you’ve only your own thoughts for company.”
“Self-pity does not become you.”
He narrowed his eyes. “Why have you come here? Not to trade pleasantries, certainly. Why, then? Just to make sure I haven’t gone anywhere?”
Celestia didn’t answer.
“Well, your trip was a waste, then.” He spat. “I may not have managed to escape yet, but I will in time. And time,” he stretched the word out, making it something between an accusation and a gloat, “is something I have no shortage of.”
“It’s strange you should say that.” Celestia looked off into the darkness which forever permeated the realm. “Tell me, do you know the etymology of the word ‘Tartarus?’”
“What game are you playing at?”
“It comes from Old Earth Pony,” she continued, as if he hadn’t spoken. “They called this place Taru-tírléas. Literally, ‘the rending of the inglorious.’” She shook her head. “A bit dramatic, if you ask me, but an apt description.”
Tirek scoffed. “There’s not been much rending either time you’ve confined me down here. Just sitting about, waiting…” he twisted his lips into a sneer, “plotting.”
“So far, yes.” Celestia looked at him closely. “Tell me. Do you feel weaker than you did a few centuries ago? More lethargic? Less… present?”
Something about the way she stressed the last word put Tirek’s nerves on edge. “How do you mean?” he demanded. “What do you know?”
She smiled, but there was no pleasure in her expression. “This is an ancient place. Long before you came to this land, and long before I ruled, there was Taru-tírléas: the realm to which the wicked were banished to wait… and to extinguish.”
Tirek’s sneer returned. “I hope you’re not waiting for me to perish. Surely, after all these centuries, you’ve realized that you’ll not be rid of me so easily?”
“Oh, I know that you’re immortal. But there is power in this realm deeper than life and death. Tartarus is a place of existence and non-existence.”
Her eyes shifted away from him, back to the darkness. “Those bound in Tartarus exist only so long as the mortal races of Equestria remember them. And when they are no longer remembered, they disappear.” Her eyes glinted. “Not death. Simply… nothing.”
Tirek’s heart paused. Carefully, he asked, “Am I still well-remembered in Equestria?”
“You are not.”
He looked at his hands. Were they frailer than they had been before? He tried to remember what he had looked like, a century ago. Had he always been so… insubstantial? “How much longer?”
“Until you are forgotten? That’s a very good question. There are none among the mortals who personally remember you anymore, of course. Your defeat is not celebrated in any popular songs or famous legends. You are not the villain of any holiday, nor the boogeymare invoked in any household. Truth be told, I’m a little surprised you’re still here at all.” She shook her head. “If nothing changes, you’ll disappear very soon.”
As she spoke, his heart began to race faster and faster, until he could barely hear her over its pounding. “You cannot do this to me!” Tirek cried. “You cannot let me vanish! You wouldn’t! You can’t!”
“I can.” She paused. “But I won’t. Not yet.” She levitated something out from behind her: a book. “To celebrate her 500th birthday, Princess Twilight Sparkle is about to publish an autobiography recounting her early adventures, and it has a whole chapter dedicated to you.” She sent it through the invisible wards, setting it at Tirek’s hooves. “Given how popular she remains, and how grand an affair a quincentenary is, I’m sure that will buy you at least another generation. I thought you might appreciate an advance copy.”
Tirek stared at the book, unable to take his eyes from the cover. “Why are you showing me this? What is your plan?”
The sad smile returned to her face. “I believe in second chances, Tirek. And third chances, and fourth chances, and as many chances as it takes. I want nothing more than for you to walk among ponykind freely—as a friend, or at least not as an enemy. I have waited thousands of years for you to take the hoof that is offered, as Discord and so many others have done. Will you not give friendship a chance?”
Finally, he tore his eyes away from the book. “I came here twice in chains,” he said. “I’ll not leave in them, whether they’re physical or not.”
Celestia seemed to shrink. “As you would have it, then. If you… I hope you’ll change your mind. Remember, though: time is not on your side.” She turned and trotted away, and within moments had vanished into the darkness. “Goodbye.”
For a long time, Tirek didn’t move. Finally, he picked up the book.
He hurled it out into the abyss.
Dark.
Hey, I liked this one heaps.
On the merits, I very much enjoy the story as a whole.
However, on an idiosyncratic personal note, I found it distracting that you used an Old Earth Pony/Old English back-translation rather than a language for the pegasi.
The best part? This justifies why Celestia never mentions ancient evils until they threaten Equestria. If they vanish forever once the meme dies out, then preparing against them would only prolong their torment or guarantee their escape.
...
Or give them all the time they need to choose the better path. Hmm. Now that I think about it, I'm not sure how to feel about this approach as opposed to, say, classes at CSGU on "Future Friends."
dat etymology
I really like the idea that Tirek is the one truly irredeemable villain from the show. I mean, I don't see Chrysalis playing nice with ponies anytime soon, but if she ever did, ol' four-legs would still be down in Tartarus, railing against his bonds.
Nice ending.
8311299
Le quieren hacer una Freddy Krueger vs Jason.
Ironically, 6.5 years after commenting on this story, I had no memory of it. Someone replied to my comment, I came, I read. It's a very good story. I like it much better than my own Tirek-in-Tartarus-worrying-about-his-reputation story, because in yours, he's clinging to his principles, rather than just wanting to make a dramatic entrance, as in mine. My Tirek is merely perverse; yours is tragic.
It's strange that I forgot it so completely. At no point did anything seem the least bit familiar. Given that I wrote a similar story, and like this one better than mine, you'd think I could remember it. But this happens to me now so regularly that I mostly don't bother to read stories at all anymore. I don't remember them unless I write a review of them, and sometimes not even then.