It was said, and had been for ages, that unicorns were ponies of fire. It came of an ancient conceptualization of the races according to elemental affinity. The merae were ponies of water, pegasi of air, earth ponies of earth and unicorns of fire, meaning the energy of raw mana manipulation. The Princesses were of all four.
Even so, most unicorns probably would have been at a loss to bear the fire of Vanilla's kitchen. Most normal ponies who had never been through the Tartarus that was culinary instruction could never bear what chefs had to bear. Crushing stress, dozens of recipes to keep in mind, a need for artistry in presentation, not to mentioned the blazing heat of a kitchen going full-blast for a busy night.
That blazing heat was turned up as high as it went, unaffected by open windows or blowing fans. When an oven was set to work at highest capacity there was not much to be done about it save to endure the heat with all the strength it was possible to muster.
Vanilla was a sweating like crazy, beads of perspiration sliding down his mussed coat. He had set his oven to blazing early and set himself to the idea that it would not abate until his job was done. He looked a mess but his cooking was as artful as ever. He stood in the eye of the storm, of dough balls being mashed, of bowls being whisked, of nuts and fruits being carefully chopped. He had a lot of work to do and he had to be sure it was done at the right time and in the right order.
It had been years since he had been faced with a challenge like that. As the head pastry chef he was responsible for providing the dessert spreads most nights, and he had taken on catering jobs for the wealthy, providing delicious sweets for large gatherings of the finest folk in Canterlot. He was very nervous, but much more certain about himself. He was letting the mana flow, letting the skill do what it had to do. His magic memory was perfect, and could even handle such a complicated demand.
'How slowly time seems to go when the company is unpleasant and how quickly it goes when things are a bit more enjoyable. I just assumed that having another pony around would be unbearable. My family certainly proved to be insufferable...' Vanilla thought with a scowl.
'I suppose I can let that go. They aren't here. None of those ponies are here. It's just me and her. From pity to hate to pity once again. Or...' Vanilla considered what he might be feeling about her. All the lies, the coldness, the dismissal, the walls put up between them. It was sad; pathetic, in a way. But she had her reasons, she was escaping some terrible and painful fate, and had only her trained upbringing to blame. She could do very little about it. 'There's no denying... I do feel for her. And she's good looking...'
Vanilla nearly stopped his magical production line as that thought came, unbidden, and asserted itself. It had come from the depths of his unconscious, through his subconscious and splattered itself across his aware mind, which was full of all the details necessary to make it all the more dramatic. He had to see her, broken, bleeding, battered that first night. He saw her clean, her body nothing like what he felt when he brought her in. He saw her, on the bed, healed, languid, thankful...
He didn't pause his production, but he did force his focus onto what each bit of his concentration was doing. He wasn't put off by the idea. She was beautiful, of course. He had never denied that. He had simply been put off by the lies and the unpleasantness of her personality. She was far more pleasant, she was still beautiful, but she was still little more than a liar. For whatever personal reason she would not open up to him, even after all he had done.
That was why, no matter how beautiful he found her, how he felt for her situation, how much he enjoyed having somepony to cook for, he couldn't let himself become enamored of her. She would have to leave, either masked under a dark cloak with a bag of pastry and directions to the nearest small town that would put her completely out of view of Canterlot, or back to Canterlot's heights, likely in the grip of dour servants to her family or in the loveless company of the family itself. He had to remember, she was and would only ever be a guest.
He cast his thoughts from the future to the present, remembering that guest, laying up in her room, probably hungry. He had told her not to expect any food until night. It was nothing malicious, it was a surprise, and he had left her with some basic provisions: a pitcher of water, some water biscuits and a small plate of cubed gelled fruit. It would suffice and keep the edge off of her hunger without spoiling her appetite for later. He imagined at that moment she was still lounging and thinking on what might happen later.
Far from lounging and imagining, Double was on her hooves, though she was enjoying another glass of water and the freshly-baked water biscuits laden with some of the gelled fruit cubes. Even on her many missions, when she could enjoy pony food, it was seldom of such quality. It was never bad, even the poorest ponies enjoyed sufficient food that was healthy and reasonably fresh. But the craft of culinary artistry was very associated with wealth, and this was especially good.
After the snack and drink she returned to her practice. Over the weeks she had gotten quite proficient at walking around on three legs. With Vanilla being more agreeable and kind she had more reason to actually try and practice. She could see, with benefit of hindsight, that it had been very petty, and a bit foolish, to force Vanilla to come up to her. It was as bad for her as for him, assaulting and insulting her Changeling nature. The fact that she had been starting to enjoy it was all the worse.
She could see that, while both were guilty of bad behavior, and a bit of venomous sniping behind false pleasantries, she had been to blame for not really feeling out the situation. Vanilla took her at her appearance, insofar as her affectations showed, and saw nothing but what he had escaped. The less she acted like that kind of Canterlot grand mare the more she found him becoming open and kind. His willingness to listen to her suggestions had put more drips of pride, passion and love into the food. It was nothing like a full meal of stolen love, but it made the beast inside quieter for a while.
She could hear the clatter of pans and pots, and feel the rising heat from the kitchen. It was unlike anything she had felt from the place, as though every fire possible was turned up to full blast. She could only imagine the misery Vanilla was experiencing inside that heat. The kitchen was probably like the badlands she had called home. Still called home. She had to remember, however pleasant, it was all meant to be strictly temporary. She would leave once she was better and capable of slipping back into the swarm without risk of being culled.
The thoughts she had been having were very wrong, so far as her Changeling nature was concerned. Perhaps her lack of immersion in the concordance field was making it harder and harder to remember what it meant to be a proper Changeling. She was meant to find it an acceptable life. But her lounging in comfort, not with a mission, but just to recuperate from her injuries, while having tasty food made by a professional... ponies had it. She could have it if she wanted it.
“I don't want it!” She shouted suddenly, clapping her hooves over her mouth after the cry. She was grateful she could hear the clatter of pans and such from below. That statement surely would have given Vanilla some serious concerns, and focused even more attention on her, piercing, deep attention, the kind that Changelings always avoided. But she had to vocalize that thought, to get it out of her and scream down the craziness in her head. The wrongness in her head.
She wasn't a pony. However she might look, even in her real form, she was not a pony at all. She was a parasite. No, a collector, a harvester, more like a farmer. The distinction suddenly seemed very important, the means of stating it becoming directly connected to her own worth. She had never been stung by being called a parasite, it had been neutral. There was no shame in the facts. But she wasn't just some creature as that name implied. She was cut from a better cloth.
What foolishness. Ponies worried about their reputations, not Changelings. Even with names and personalities, lives, they were a swarm. A mass. They were meant to be cogs in a grand machine, interchangeable and replaceable, doing a basic duty that was idiot-proof. The only reputation was as productive enough or fit to be eliminated. She had always been productive enough and that was all that mattered.
But there truly was more to it; there was always more to it. There was a certain artistry, a certain skill, a pride in capability and the artistry of presenting a borrowed face and integrating into a stranger's life. Some were supremely skilled. Others minimally successful. There were well-known figures, figures with bad reputations and other similar categories. In truth it was truly more complicated than the simplistic idea of cogs in a machine.
Double had never thought of it like that before. Life was easier when the details were glossed and the simple ideas flowed through, rather than the nuances. Life was easier to take as just a collection of workers and drones, rather than a vibrant culture of very unique individuals whose jobs were unusual but highly artistic and creative.
“But not bad... never... never that bad...” She mumbled to herself, munching on more water biscuits and gelled fruit. They had to live. They had to get love to live and thrive. To feed the holing void within and quell that need. They took what they needed, stored honey when they could and did what was necessary to get along.
A look at her cast-encased leg made Double doubt, for a split second, how true that declaration of 'necessary' actually was. The Queen had insisted it was required to live. She had said it would be fine, that they would be fed. She would become powerful but that was an afterthought. The swarm could live.
It... had lived on small raids and minor infiltration, yes. Had for as long as any Changeling could tell through whispers passing in the concordance. It never left the swarm mighty or great, but it kept them alive. That was the ideal that had been planted. To survive. Not just to avoid culling but to let a new generation pass on. It was supposed to be sufficient. But Chrysalis had been an inscrutable queen, and surely she knew what she had been doing.
She had to have known. Absolutely. Only pony intervention and unforeseen magics had ended the hope of the swarm before it came to fruition. Perhaps that was the answer to the endless hunger. Endless food to fill it. Quieting the void. A noble end. That must have been the plan all along. But it had sadly failed and left them, perhaps, far worse off than ever before.
For a Changeling, being known was the worst fate. A fate worse than death because the very fate potentially invited death, from zealous defenders, or from culling for failure. A double possibility of a life ended, worse than the simple certainty of the end.
Now they were known. Ponies would view sudden incorrect actions with suspicion. She knew the ponies were not a paranoid population, and managed their uncertainties and potential dangers well. They would enact protections and learn magic to detect Changelings, maybe rework some of the old legends into more modern and usable objects.
It would be a sorry state, especially if the swarm could not get any love at all, and ran through their stores of honey. They would have to try another raid, simply out of desperation. Nothing but simple expediency. Not the best way to do things but reality was what it was. They had to live it, even as they simultaneously lived lives of subterfuge.
Double grew quite upset. The line of thinking was not doing her any good. She tried to think on the mystery. “A surprise...” she said quietly, thinking on the coy smile on Vanilla's face before he left her the biscuits and fruit. The heat was high and the noise was loud. He had been active in the kitchen before, so she had to consider, with her limited knowledge of pony culinary traditions, what it might mean.
Perhaps he was laboring over something unduly and terribly complex. Perhaps something large and involved like a multi-stepped wedding cake requiring multiple types of pastry and icing as well as decorations. Maybe it was something small and unassuming-looking that required exotic ingredients that needed exacting cooking and which took hours to get just right. It could have been he was just being a perfectionist, making one thing over and over to get it just right.
The smells from down below told her that the cooking was going very well. Her stomach rumbled a touch, seeking more than the biscuits, gel and water. The void was monotonous in its demands for satiation. She had learned to ignore it, in some sense, but not perfectly, and not for long. It would be quieted by the pastry she could smell. They were filled with some variety of love.
She would just need to wait. She resumed her walking practice and let the time slip away, putting scent and void out of her thoughts, with the assistance of the last of her provisions.
The technique seemed to have worked. While she was so focused on walking and pointedly ignoring her various hungers she failed to realize Vanilla had appeared in the doorway and was watching her. He only made his presence known with the clearing of his throat and a soft nod. “I hope I'm not interrupting, Dee Dee,” he said, looking friendly, though tired, sweat still sheening his coat.
“Oh! Goodness... no, not interrupting. Just training. I think I have the hang of this,” Dee Dee said with a smile and tilt of her head. “Is this mysterious surprise of yours ready? I must confess, I have been eagerly imagining what it might be.”
“Yes. The mystery can be revealed. But there's more too it than just one surprise. I'm actually happy to see that you're walking around so well,” Vanilla said.
“Are you, now? And why is that so significant?” Dee Dee inquired, stepping towards the door.
“The surprise would not have half the impact if not. You see I... would like you to come downstairs. I think you're ready. I figured that a mystery might be a good motivator for you to try.”
Downstairs. Dee Dee had not been downstairs since she first arrived. Her poor attitude and inability to properly walk and confined her to the upstairs area. It was an indication she was stronger, more healed. Closer to leaving... “I believe I just may have the skill and confidence to make it down the stairs... if I may, perhaps, lean on you, strictly for... moral support.”
An amused smile crossed Vanilla's features and he politely held back a chuckle. “I'm sure you won't need me there, but I'll gladly stand beside you to offer you an encouraging metaphorical shoulder.”
“Very good. Then I think...” Dee Dee made her was confidently out of her room and turned the opposite of her usual way down the upstairs hall, approaching the steps without hesitation or fear. It was only when she reached the top step that she faltered, looking with some trepidation at the descent and unsure of how to get her good hoof down gracefully.
Very suddenly Vanilla was there, standing just close enough to suggest something without actually pressing against her. “It's an honor to escort a fancy mare. I did it infrequently but it really was very nice.”
Dee Dee slowly and casually moved her bad leg's shoulder against Vanilla's body and pressed against him, shifting enough of her weight that she could lift the good leg and set it down on the next step. “You are such a natural. I hardly know you are here yet I feel your encouragement,” Dee Dee said, working her way down, good rear legs working as usual, her forelegs continuing the process of shifting weight and then moving down a step.
At the bottom of the stairs both ponies looked up towards the second floor with a touch of surprise. A painless, successful move. “Now, close your eyes and press to my side, I'll lead you to the surprise.”
Dee Dee was momentarily overcome by the smell. It was as though every possible scent that any dessert had ever had was trying to swarm her senses, to demand notice. Her stomach practically seized up and she had to stop herself from dashing towards the wonderful scent. She gingerly placed herself against Vanilla and closed her eyes. “You move fast,” she said with a light laugh.
“I believe in being a very proper gentlecolt,” Vanilla replied, slowly and carefully leading Dee Dee the short distance to the dining area. “Open your eyes.”
Dee Dee thought she had died. Died or been made aware all her life was a dream. She thought she was fading away, dreaming a less-unpleasant reality as her mangled body died. But it was real. Every surface before her, the table, the sideboards, the counters, even a spare chair were all set with platters, plates and other things loaded down with pastry. Every example of Vanilla's craft, all exquisitely rendered. Every layer looked flaky and tender, every sweep of icing was perfect, all the garnishes were set down with professional care and artistry.
She didn't know whether to laugh or cry or cheer as she looked out upon the landscape of sugared pleasure. She never even knew she had a sweet tooth or had such a pleased reaction towards pony food. But there was no denying the emotion welling up in her. “Th-this... this is unbelievable! I've never even seen such a thing before!”
“I've never made such a thing before. Not alone. For big parties I usually had a Demi-Chef de Patisserie, plus a few Sous Chefs to handle the grunt work while I did only the most important jobs. This was a labor of love,” Vanilla said proudly, looking on his own landscape of food with a nod, like an artist surveying his magnum opus. “This was all because of you.”
“Because of me?” Dee Dee asked, her incredulous tone muted by the subtle awe she still felt in looking over the collection of desserts.
“You told me to let go of my fear and uncertainty. You showed me I wasn't a mere tool, but the author of all I did. Magic was the tool, and I was the conductor, the conduit, the true controller. So many years of being thought of as simply the sum of all my food made me think I had no value as me. But you... you made me see my food was the expression of me, not the definition. I didn't exist as an afterthought needed to make the pastry, the pastry existed because of me,” Vanilla said, smiling aside at Dee Dee.
“This is an impressive 'thank you' for just a bit of advice,” Dee Dee noted, standing stock still and incapable of deciding what she should do.
“The past few weeks have not been 'easy', or they were not at the start,” Vanilla noted, with a light blush on his cheeks, “For various reasons we need not discuss. There is no blame to lay around. Things happened. But at least recently things have been far nicer. Much more enjoyable. And really, I have never felt so alive.”
A light blush sprang up on Dee Dee's face, coloring her cheeks even over the black of her fur. “Yes, well... mistakes were made. And they have not been made again. Progress. Ever something to savor. A new chapter opened and this provides a wonderful cap to it.”
A moment of silence followed, Dee Dee in awe and Vanilla in contemplation of getting his own fire back. His horn glowed and a chair slowly pulled out at the over-laden table. “Please, have a seat and sample all that you like. This was for you. As thanks and in celebration of you coming down the stairs! You've earned it.”
Dee Dee had never really earned much of anything save keeping her own life with her successes. The feeling that washed over her as she sat down, her chair slowly sliding close to the table, was wonderful. So that was what an earned reward felt like. “I hardly know where to start. You've made... everything!”
“Everything I had on-hoof anyhow,” Vanilla said, a bit of a sheepish look spreading on his face. “You should expect to see some of these desserts return. Not too many, I know that it is improper to give too-old food to someone. I will do all I can to eat these. And until I resupply, food will be limited to vegetables.”
“I promise you, I will try to leave as little as possible to put away,” Dee Dee said with a voice full of humor. She was really spoiled for choice, and so she, oddly, picked a very unassuming thing, a simple tart. The warm, buttery aroma carried the distinct undertone of strawberry. A single bite exploded with flavor. The butter, the strawberry, a hint of raspberry adding an extra kick. But below, where only a Changeling could get to... love. He had not been lying. It was more than the pride she had tasted before, more than proving himself. The creation was a labor of love, real love. More than the small drips and drabs of before, it was infused into the treat.
She became ravenous, thoroughly unladylike. But at that point she did not care. She wanted to gag the void, choke it with the rich bounty offered freely to her. Eclairs, cakes, cookies, petit fours, all of them infused with love. Still, nothing like a meal drawn directly off, but it was there and taste that it added to the sublime dishes...
She was aware, on some level, that Vanilla had taken a seat himself and begun eating as well. In the back of her mind she could well imagine his look. Possibly bemused, possibly disturbed, perhaps even fascinated by seeing a proper mare lose all restraint and just attack the spread with a hungry desire.
Vanilla was indeed bemused by the sight. It was very unusual, but it certainly swelled his pride. His skill was such that one taste of his best turned a proper society mare into what could only be described as a foal with their bag of Nightmare Night candy. She was sampling everything, and seemingly finding it all to her taste.
It was all he could have wanted and more. True, he had been trying to show off, trying to impress a mare he feared might have been a bit jaded, and to prove he still had it. But it was genuinely a work of art in thanks for the timely advice she had given, and to celebrate her trip down the stairs. She was getting stronger. She'd have to leave. Before somepony came seeking her.
The crash of reality made the repast a bit wan. The sight of it grew a bit less impressive and the taste became a bit bland. This wasn't the first time he had really been enjoying her company, but it was one of the best enjoyments of her company. Sharing his creations, and seeing how they moved her was really something. She was being very honest about how she felt. “It seems a bit late now,” Vanilla said, clearing his throat, “But I should ask what you think of all this.”
Dee Dee took a few moments to respond, first having to hear and process the question, then having to swallow. “I think... it's indescribable. The smell and look could not possibly have prepared me for the taste of it. I see now. I see everything now. I see the truth in this spread. The reality.” She suddenly seemed on the verge of tears.
“I... never thought a dessert could be so moving,” Vanilla said, reaching out for Dee Dee.
“It's so much more. It has a meaning, a meaning I never even imagined until I tasted it,” Dee Dee said, pulling away and looking aside. “You have no idea what this represents. It just makes me aware... how dishonest I have been. And really... dishonesty is so often my business. A way of life, you could say. You've probably wondered so many things while I have been here...”
It was time at last. She was going to say which fate she fled, what dire family pronouncement she was escaping. “I can help you get away from an arranged marriage, I'm sure I could offer something...” Vanilla began.
Dee Dee actually laughed, her head shaking. “You think it's that? I wish it was. I wish I was a runaway rich mare ducking a marriage. But this...” She bowed her head, sucked in a breath and let her magic go. Green fire sprang up at her horn and washed slowly down her whole body. The perfectly straight spiral transformed into the smooth curve from that night. Her black coat smoothed into her flexible black chitin. Her dark mane and tail transformed into the green membrane that also wrapped around her midsection. Wings, the veined and membranous wings of an insect stood up and fluttered on her back. Small white fangs jutted a touch from her lips. Pupil-less blue eyes looked out on the world. Legs with holes shot through them, her cast still on the broken foreleg, held her up. Her change was complete. She was as she had been that first night. Dee Dee revealed as Double Dealing. Her real Changeling self. “This is something more. Something beyond...”
Vanilla had no words. The green fire was enough to send him towards the kitchen. The full revelation sent him tumbling, scraping along the ground to try and back away from what Dee Dee had become. His magic grabbed out blindly, picking up knives and forks and presenting a bristling ring of metal as he cowered in the kitchen.”Wh-what is this? What are you?”
Confusion could be seen, even on Double's alien features. “Did you not hear? How could you not hear?”
“Hear what? I haven't heard anything about... anything like this!” Vanilla shouted, rising slowly to his hooves.
“The wedding, of Cadance and Shining Armor. Invaded, unsuccessfully. By Queen Chrysalis and her Changelings. Surely you heard. It must have been everywhere...” He must have been toying with her. He must have.
“I knew about the wedding. You told me that you had fallen... from... there...” The real truth of the confession burst onto Vanilla. “I don't get the paper... I don't listen to the news or have a television. I never knew...”
Double stood there, unmasked. Vulnerable. Stupid. She had revealed her real self to someone that did not know what she was. It had been foolish to reveal it at all, and worthless to do so to someone that did not know. “Now you know. Here I am, revealed. The real me. Beneath the seeming. I am a Changeling.”
Vanilla approached, slowly, still keeping his utensils around him. He sought the features. The same smooth horn, the odd legs, the shape he had felt. It was the real form beneath the mud. She was telling the truth, for once. “Why are you even telling me? You were getting cared for and I had no idea anything was wrong.”
Double took a moment to consider it. The idea became increasingly stupid. Her Changeling culture railed against the easy revelation. Yet, it had not been easy. It had not come for no reason. “The food...” She said, looking at the slightly-scattered spread. “I can taste emotions that imbue dishes. It was filled with love, with truth, with real passion. When you took my advice, when you let go, let yourself be free and show your vast creative power expressed in a smooth precision and expertise... that was, wholly and honestly, you. Purified and refined. The ultimate truth. You filled it with truth and love. I've spent so much time here, I felt that... I owed you the same.”
It was Vanilla's turn to be silent, contemplative, yet wary. His ring of metal never dropped nor wavered. They were some very powerful words, but she had lied to him before. Continually. “So, you told me. Well... something new to know about my nation...”
“I am unafraid of you,” Double said, apropos of nothing. “I should fear you with all my heart. You could so easily defeat me. A Changeling is a sneak, a shadow, a creeping thing. We are no match in a one-on-one fight, not even against an untrained unicorn. Only in a swarm can we ever hope to fight and win... when some may be beaten and battered to let others mass and conquer...” She caught her words in her throat, and shivered. “And me... injured, with so little of the power reserve that I need... with one thought any of those carefully tended knives could split my chitin easier than you split vegetables, all before I could hope to be away from you. And if I escaped, I would be helpless. Probably culled if I returned to the swarm. But I am unafraid of you.”
She was quivering. Monsters weren't supposed to quiver. Conquering armies were never meant to be so candid about their weaknesses. Vanilla remembered her early days, the face she had put on. Her later disguise may have been a mask as well. She was apparently a creature of disguises. “Then why aren't you afraid?” He asked, using all his strength to sound strong and gruff, his steps having brought his protective shield of utensils almost to Double's throat.
She lifted her chin and exposed her neck. Culling was her fate if she returned to the swarm. She had hoped to escape it. But if she could not, she could at least choose how it would happen. Make it on her terms. Such a good Changeling attitude. Her words, however, were opposite to the Changeling way. “Because... I trust you...”
The tip of Vanilla's chef knife whispered across Double's chitin, a touch that barely could be said to have happened at all. His horn stopped glowing, and the knives and forks fell with a clatter in a shining semicircle around him. He half-fell, half-lunged forward and wrapped Double up in an embrace, feeling the real her for the first time since he had saved her life. Now she was real. Now she was honest. Whatever she might be, whatever may have happened... he finally had her honesty.