Title: Deathless Love
Pairing: Cadence/Tirek
She loved him. She had to love him. Why else would she be doing this? Ponies who loved other ponies did things like this, right?
Right?
Except ... he wasn’t a pony. Did that make a difference? Did ponies who loved not-ponies do things like this?
No, she loved a pony! And she loved him! That meant he had to be a pony! That meant doing this was all right! It did!
Could not-ponies love?
Could she love?
She didn’t know.
Did that mean she wasn’t a pony anymore?
Had she ever been a pony? She struggled to recall some fact to confirm her own existence, but all that came back from her echoing mind were fragments. The caves. Bars. Chains. Confinement. Imprisoned for so long. Welts around her neck and legs. Hair worn off from decades of pacing and rising and sitting and laying and pacing and rising and sitting and laying and …
Ponies needed to eat! Yes, that was a fact! A pony could not have survived thousands of years of imprisonment without eating, as she had! That must mean she wasn’t a pony.
The realisation of this single fact made her want to laugh and cry. She was never quite sure of appropriate responses to her own thoughts. The demons who surrounded her cage laughed all the time so they were no help. She had tried to laugh along with them but it tired her out and she had to stop. Sometimes she ran along the bars as they dragged their spears across it, creating a rat-a-tat-a-tat sound that made her head ache gloriously. Other times she hunched in the corner and wept, a writhing ball of blood and guts and pink and yellow and purple and oh, oh, oh, oh –
Thousands of years. She had lost count long ago but he told her that was how long had passed since the beginning. She wasn’t sure if that meant she had been born into the depths or brought here from somewhere else. Sometimes she got flashes of blue skies, green fields, a ball of fire behind little puffs of white – even a shining turret! Nothing connected though. The fragments were just fragments and shattered away until they resurrected themselves later. She would lay on the floor of her cage wondering how she knew what a turret was and why the word ‘shining’ made it hard to breathe.
She hated being alone. There were other cages on other mountains down here but their occupants were nothing more than smears of blue and white. Now and then she stuck her foreleg through the bars to reach for them, when she had forgotten whether they were far away or just very small. The demons usually bit it off and she revelled in the newness of watching her limb regrow. It took weeks but anything new was welcome. Very little changed in the depths. Last time that happened she thought she had stopped breathing for a while, thinking of blood and bone and a shining white coat all torn up and draped around it. Yet that was stupid. She had pink fur, not white!
Today she had four legs. The demons hadn’t pulled her tail out either. It hung limply behind her and twitched when she heard distant thumping. She recognised his approach. Her chest did something. It was hard to put a name to what. She thought maybe she enjoyed it.
He appeared out of the mists, a towering mass of power wreathed in red flesh and black fur. His booming footsteps made stalactites fall. Demons ran around the cave floor, trying to get out of the way. She watched as one was squashed by a falling pointy rock. The pain came in her chest again. Did she like seeing its brains smashed on the floor? He stepped on the remains like they were nothing and came to a halt between the three cage-topped mountains.
His smile had so many teeth in it. Fangs. That was what they were called. Pointy teeth were fangs and roundy teeth were … not-fangs. Just like he was a not-pony. Not-ponies were able to shrink and grow at will, like he did. She reasoned that he must be a different kind of not-pony than her, since she could not shrink or grow even when she strained so much that she passed out.
Her cage door creaked. She always forgot there was a door. It never seemed to be there when he wasn’t. She watched the hinges with fascination.
“Princess.”
He boomed less when he was small. Did that mean he could shrink his voice too? Could not-ponies shrink their voices? She kept watching the hinges until he held her chin and forced her to look at him instead. He released her abruptly, shaking off drool.
“Heh. You always were the weakest.”
Her? Weakest? Compared to who? The other caged creatures? Did that mean he preferred them to her? Her chest did that thing again. She struggled to her feet.
“Nnnn…” Her throat revolted. She bent low, coughing up black filth. Everything was dark down here. Even her insides. Even her heart. If she even had one, that is. She couldn’t see one painted anywhere on her body and she was so hollow inside, there couldn’t possibly be one there. “Nnnnno!”
“No?” He tilted his head to one side, horns gleaming in the meagre light.
He had two horns. She only had one. She had wings though. He did not. She supposed that was why he tore them off sometimes; because he wanted some for himself and it wasn’t like she was using hers. They always grew back, so it may hurt and she screamed a whole bunch, but then she had something new to think about and that was good. Blood made her breath catch and her chest clench and sometimes something thrummed in the back of her mind like a prisoner crying to get out and show her the blue skies and sunshine and purple wings and no hope, no more, dead, dead, dead, oh, oh, oh –
“No what?” he asked now, snapping her back to reality.
“Nnnnnn…”
“You’re not the weakest? Oh, but you are. Your mind crumbled so easily compared to the royal sisters. They still fight me. It is amusing.”
Royal … sisters? She blinked, unable to comprehend what he meant. She shook her head and tried not to topple over from dizziness. She was always so thirsty …
“Nnnnno! Not alllllllllowed ...” She huffed, focussed on getting the words out.
“Not allowed what?” He seemed amused. That was good. Amusement meant he liked her.
“To … choose … them!” she finished finally. “Mmmme! Have to … choose … me!” She sucked in a lungful of foul air.
“And why should I-?”
“Because I love you!” she shouted before he could finish his question.
His posture changed. His arms flexed. He had arms. She did not. She stared at his hands as he unclenched his fists.
“Oh, Princess,” he purred.
She loved him. She had to. That was why she let him turn her around like he did. That was why she let him do the things he did. She had to love him. Why else would she be doing this? Ponies who loved other ponies did things like this, right?
Right?
Except ... he wasn’t a pony. Did that make a difference? Did ponies who loved not-ponies do things like this?
No, she loved a pony! And she loved him! That meant he had to be a pony! That meant doing this was all right! It did!