Magical Medicine

by yellowbastion

Chapter 5 Part 10

You and Celestia had finished rummaging through your memories in that weird magic realm to discover what great deeds you had accomplished. When you discovered what all the memories had in common, what kind of Alicorn thing you would become, the realm spat you back out to where it stole you from. You were sent back to the guest room at Twilight’s crystal castle and Celestia was probably sent to a table filled with cake so she could continue to stuff her face. You had yet to move out of your house which was still under construction at that time. When you arrived in the castle guest room you were no longer a human. That would have been too easy. For some reason the God of the pony universe decided it was going to be racist against humans and had transformed you into one of them. Your look was complete: hooves, a flowing mane, wings, a horn, and a tail. You were taller than the average pony, about the same height as Luna. Twilight was super angry that you were taller than her. Twilight was often angry with a lot of things, which is really sad, but not everyone can be as happy and optimistic as you.

Already knowing the protocol, Twilight and her merry band of murderous misfits had ushered you to Canterlot where the common ponies could watch ex-Princess Celestia crown you and make you the very first Alicorn Prince of the realm. As you're already aware, pony magic and magic in general, doesn't work on you the same way as the other critters born of this mirror realm where animals run the farm and everything else. Your super-human immune system rejected the forced ponification just as Celly dropped the ugly, silver crown on your weird pony head. Poof, you were the first non-pony to be crowned a pony prince. That made everyone angry. Not that it was in any way your fault. You didn't ask to be a ponycorn or be crowned Prince or change back at the worst possible time. Things like that just seem to happen to you, like you're the main character in some author's poorly written fanfiction.

Now you live in seclusion in your home, located along the road a stone's throw away from the dirt path that leads through the Ghastly Gorge Flyway, outside of Ponyville. An unassuming house in a non-threatening location near the middle of nowhere. You’re far enough away from prying eyes, the press, and creepy stalkers but close enough that you could walk for ten minutes if you needed to do your laundry or get groceries. In a location that would look completely normal except for the fact that, occasionally, the dragons that sometimes fly overhead crash into the decorative rainbows the pegasus weather teams set up. It doesn’t always happen but, when it does, it’s hilarious.

On this night, you are sitting on your couch. In your left hand is wrapped around a short, crystal tumbler filled with distilled moonbeams. It looked like water, smelled like cedar smoke, burned like fire, tasted of hate, and had a cool finish like freshly picked peppermint. Maybe one day Hell would freeze over and you’ll tell ex-Princess Luna that you may have accidentally somehow obtained a crate of her personal brand of magic liver poison. How amazing it was. How it helped you get through so many rough times living your new life in crazy pony world. Maybe you could ask Spike to write the letter for you because you don't know how to write pony script and have him sign it as ”from anonymous” so she won't know it's from you. It’s a kind and thoughtful idea that you’re sure won’t ever backfire.

Tonight had been a little different than usual. Your guest arrived on your doorstep just as you were getting ready for bed, nearly starving. You, being the most humble human in the universe, invited them into your home and did the decent thing any host should do. You gave them a warm meal and a safe place to rest. Your right hand is still slowly, gently sliding down the body of the very alien looking creature. Your guest, the magically injured changeling who has never once spoken a word to you, is laying across two couch cushions with their head resting across your lap. It’s a familiar position that the two of you have come to enjoy.

You call your changeling guest ‘they’ and ‘them’ because you try not to use gendered pronouns for a creature that can change their gender at will. And, since they have been unable to tell anyone what it is, you don’t use their name. You’re sure they have a name because everything does, including the bit of skin between your nostrils, the columella, and that giving them a new name could be seen as being insulting. I’m sure if they cared enough they could write it down and show it to a pony who could read it for you. But, for now, when some pony asks for the changeling’s name you refer to them as “my changeling” and neither of you mind.

You often tell them stories because you felt the need to fill the silence with something. But tonight your reminiscing, your retelling of the fateful day the two of you met, is more than just a story, it’s part of their meal. Dinner and a show, so to speak. But it’s now complete as it had been for some time. Well, mostly complete. You left out a bunch of details like; how you sometimes have memory problems, or how you got to Equestria in the first place, why you were working as a nurse in the port city of Al’ Salbaud, how you convinced captain Darkstar to smuggle Spike and yourself into Equestria, and why you sometimes have memory problems. But that’s what good storytellers do: keep the listener always wanting more. Your guest didn’t want to hear about any of those things but, like any good chef, you cut up the healthy bits into small enough fun pieces that they wouldn't mind eating them. It’s like some sort of super-healthy emotional chicken soup or Greek salad.

The sun was just starting to set when your guest had arrived. From your spot on the couch you can see across the room to the west facing window. You can see that the moon has risen fully above the tree line that is Whitetail Woods which buffers your little plot of land from the insanity that is Ponyville.

“It’s getting pretty late,” you say.

In response your changeling guest yawned. While it's not much of a reply, it’s not nothing. It indicates to you that they’re full, happy, and comfortable where they are. You personally know house-cats from back home who give less of a shit when they hear a human speak. Like, somehow the cat can’t hear me when I call its name from the same room but somehow it can hear me from across the house when I open a tin of food? Cats are tiny little jerks with fangs and claws. That’s why you’re more of a dog person.

“I could walk you home if you want,” you offer.

You didn’t get a reply that time, which means ‘no’ as all non-replies do. You know that because you're a decent human being.

“Or you could stay the night here,” you counteroffer.

They crack an eyelid to look at you with one glassy, teal eye. That had caught their interest. Now to reel them in.

“The couch is plenty big enough. I’ve got extra pillows and blankets. Or we could share my bed. Whaddaya say?”

With that they bolt up and rocket across the sitting room, hooves clattering on the hardwood floor, to your bedroom. How very forward of them. You've slept in the same bed with other non-human creatures before, your changeling guest shouldn't be any different. You just gotta watch out for sharp hooves and pokey horns. No biggie.

From the dark bedroom you see a green flash of light, then the familiar orange face of Applejack peeks out from behind the door frame. Your changeling guest still has its horn and the same mane style as Twilight but in AJ’s hay bale blonde color. It’s really great to see they’ve healed enough from their magic injury to do transformations again even if they’re still mostly incomplete.

It’s not necessary for them to transform into a different person because you’re not so shallow as to care what people look like, but you can still appreciate that they took the effort to do it anyway. If it helps them feel more comfortable to change their appearance, who are you to tell them not to? Your guest knows that you still have a deep fondness for your favorite farm pony and they’re going to exploit those feelings to feed from you a little bit more. It’s a win for both of you.

You stand up and stretch both arms high above your head. The familiar pops and cracks from your elbows and spine reach your ears. You let your arms flop back down as you follow after your guest to your bedroom. Maybe you'll get some shut-eye. Maybe your guest has other, more sexy plans in mind. You're fine with doing either of those things.

While you may be a recluse, hiding away from the ponies who don't like the idea of you being a crowned Prince of the land, you believe that your redemption arc may be coming up. After all, even if you no longer have hooves, you're still the Alicorn of Second-chances.

Author's Note:

If you feel that I have missed something, have questions, or need clarification, feel free to let me know in the comments or send me a DM.

Comments

[tsaukpaetra]

I'm sure the ponies will be able to help the memory problems.
At least he's an easy target for that changeling. Such a shame they never gave their name. Maybe they did, if not for those memory problems...

[yellowbastion]

11465584

Such a shame they never gave their name.

The changeling does have a name and it’s right there in the chapter. And you’re probably going to hate it.
It’s a super deep reference to Star Trek: Voyager, Season 1 Episode 1 that requires explanation.

When Neelix and Tuvok first meet and introduce themselves Tuvok said said his name is “Tuvok. I’m a Vulcan.” So, for the rest of the series, Neelix calls him “Mister Vulcan” because he thinks it’s his last name and Tuvok doesn’t bother to correct him.
I had a plan to use the changling’s name like the Abbott and Costello “Who’s on First” sketch. [link]
First name: My
Last name: Changeling

[tsaukpaetra]

11465798
🤣 Aight.