If Only You Drank From The Pool of Lethe
Deep in the damp, sweaty darkness, Pokey Pierce lights his way through tunnels. He holds back a shudder and a stilted scream, as his horn slowly dims to a flicker. The tunnel is getting narrower, colliding with his torn back as the ceiling sprinkles pebbles and threats of falling on top of him. Again.
He doesn't want to die here. In the dark. In the dirt.
Soft air taps at his nose, easing his stagnating, labored breaths but it mostly mocks him. As if waiting for him to choke to death on his own fumes. The air is going to run out, sooner or later.
Rocks and bugs burrow into his flesh. Opening wounds that's barely closed. Streams of blood and sweat run freely, making it harder to drag himself forward. The ground, the loose mud sinks under his weight as his hooves try to get a hold of something solid and dry. Something that won't crumble or squish. And the space only seems to be getting smaller, hotter.
He hasn't seen another intersection for a while, whatever a while is down here.
And though the thought of smashing his head into another dead-end is nerve-racing, he's-
Not going to finish that train of thought.
Hyperventilating wastes air and only makes the tunnels hotter, harder to crawl through with frantic hooves clawing at everything he could touch. There's a couple bruise he bears caused by panic attacks and those, he thinks, are the ones he's ashamed of the most.
Pokey pauses, takes in a deep breath, and keeps crawling. There. He's better now. Three days ago or again, maybe just a day... He doesn't know the total sum of minutes or hours gone by when he faints or drops out of exhaustion. Pokey had thought it was possible to dig his way out. Mind you, this was when he had just fell into a pit-trap in the Everfree forest.
The walls of the pit were weak to his magic's pull and if he couldn't climb out, he'd do something clever and make a slope for himself to walk up...
But he'd been terribly, terribly wrong.
Instead of going down to line the floor of the pit, the dirt, the blue dirt, full of odd roots with red polka dots made everything upside down. The blue dirt shifted the large and wide enough to stand and run in a circle pit-trap, into long, thin tunnels. Depending on the shade of polka dot on the walls, bright or pale, each tunnel had some sort of trap that could be triggered with magic. And the small tunnels made it hard to keep his horn, constantly lighting his way, from touching the walls.
But of course, that was part of the trap.
Sometimes, he'd find something that looked like an exit. Right before his eyes, he'd see a image of outside like the forest, or a river bank, or his own kitchen with a fresh apple pie waiting for him. And he'd rush to that spot, eager to get out, only to plow into a dead-end behind the illusion. His horn would connect with the blue dirt, and then he's teleported elsewhere in the maze of tunnels.
His horn's been fizzling as his resolve weakens and his mana pool empties out. Fear's been keeping him company, providing drive and energy but it can't stop his body from shutting down ever so often.
But this feels like the right tunnel, the right way and he can't risk sleeping here.
Sometimes, he'd pass out and wake up in a different tunnel, seconds before it's ceiling would fall and piles of crawling, biting insects would land on his face. Or the ground would give under him if he rested too long, dropping him onto hard stones cutting into his coat. He could never hold his cries of pain in from those falls. And things, maybe animals that haven't been discovered and should never be, would roar, shaking everything, and he'd fall even further down into another tunnel with a weaker roof.
Pokey close his eyes right before his horn goes out, sparing himself the sight of the dark and Death, his death, so close now that he hardly feels alone. He reaches out a hoof and still feels nothing blocking his way.
He keeps crawling. On and on.
Something drops on his back. Pokey shakes it off.
He keeps crawling. On and on.
Something bites his back-hoof. Pokey kicks and smashes it firmly, waiting for the squish sound before he pulls forward. It's these little rituals, that calm him.
He keeps crawling. On and on.
Fresher air kisses his drenched face and his forearm finally stretches down to touch something cold and of stone like a proper floor. He opens his eyes and pulls himself out, standing very much sore but very much alive in a temple of sorts.
Blue light shines down from adjacent shutters of the arched, domed ceiling, dimly lighting the room.
From what he can make of the sky, it is early morning. He'd expected to see yellow, blinding sunlight and green and brown dotting the landscape but this was good too.
The sounds of water bubbling catches his attention, bringing it to the center of the room. An odd fountain, suspended by carved crystals and stone basins, cascades with sweetest water he has ever seen, and somehow emits a chilly breeze even thought it is summer.
Pokey shakes his body, trying to get the blood pumping to get rid of that phantom cold effect prickling at his coat. He crosses quickly to the fountain and pokes one of the basins, held by silver feathers and chains. Some of the water splashes on him.
It is real! He is... free!
He leans over the fountain, sticking his face in the water, cooling down his body immensely. Below him, his reflection looks like it had some rough days. It's going to have some more. He may be free of the tunnels but he's still not home. Not yet. But he's going to parch his thirst and then consider the likelihood of him being close to Ponyville. And also sleep.
He laps at the water, drinks and knows no more.
---000---
It's this part that he's fuzzy on.
He remembers hearing the normal sounds of Ponyville, just before everyone started freaking out. He remembers Twilight yelling in that bossy, yet 'I've just learned something about FRIENDSHIP and I'm going to use it' voice of hers. And he remembers something evil and old, laughing.
But being possessed by a thing from Tartarus tends to do that. Or it should've of. He didn't remember what the old geezer did with his body on his rampage but the fact of the matter is that he remembers something at all! Of course, he shouldn't know this. Any of this. But he remembers and that thing from Tartarus, knew it too.
Pokey is sure that the old ghost, the old bastard who decided to ruin someone else's life, did all of this on purpose!
---000---
When he comes to, he's standing in the middle of Main street with all that he can see, covered in snow and ice. Which is weird, considering he was drinking in a temple like five seconds ago. But he's had a long three or one day and is not going to question his good fortune of being back in Ponyville without going through the Everfree.
Standing in front of him, he can see the group of girls with the magic necklaces, floating down and that weird light leaving their eyes. They are called the Harmony bearers, right?
“He didn't turn into stone like Discord,” the alicorn in front says. Is she a princess? He's seen her around but her name is just not coming to him. Twinkle or something.“That means he's like Luna when we hit her with the harmony beam. What are we going to do with him?”
“I know! I know! Let's give him to Fluttershy. You can teach him not to trap the world into a eternal snowstorm of oblivion and all that other stuff he was preaching.”
“Pinkie, you do know that if he has been magically reformed like Luna, that him staying with Fluttershy is completely unnecessary.”
“So does that means, he can stay with me? I always wanted to make ice cream on demand!”
Pokey guesses that they are talking about the last weird event to hit Ponyville while he's been away. Probably the cause of all that snow and he hopes he doesn't get drafted into the clean-up duty. He leans down, stretching out each leg before reaching backwards to pull out that kink in his back. Then there's a loud crick, his body becomes like jelly and it's all... Ah.
Time to go home.
He walks down the street, makes a quick right on Woodrow, and there's his house with the emerald green door. He's home. Pokey approaches the door and waits for the knob to open. He can feel his horn warm up and it shouldn't take too long now.
“What is he doing?” He hears the girls say. Why did they follow him?
Pokey turns away from his door and glances around. There's nothing unusual in the sky or around him. He makes eye-contact with one of his neighbors, Swirl Tip, who leaps away from the window that she was looking through. Pokey looks around again and a bit of fear crawls around his waist.
Pokey blinks and for a second, he's back in the tunnels.
He needs to get in. Right now! The knob won't open no matter how much he concentrates on turning it. Come on, he needs to get in! He needs to get in before something happens! Oh, he can't take this anymore and frantically bangs into the door.
It's a dead-end.
It's always been a dead-end! He never got out. He was never going to get out!
Pokey paws at the door in rage, in sorrow before he slides down, leaning into the wood. He needs to calm down and tries to look up at the sky. But all he sees is a gray storm cloud evaporating into mist. It's good enough, though. There aren't clouds underground. Common sense, really.
He has to remember that he's free. He's out.
Pokey raise up a hoof to touch his horn, another ritual but instead, he only feels his forehead.
