With him, she'd had some wonderfully stable times.
It was ironic, perhaps, to consider the spirit of chaos an instrument to stability. Many would claim the spirit, even after his reformation, was still unpredictable and chaotic. To this, she would have to disagree. They had been close friends for many years, and in all that time he was there for her. Even when it all when wrong, when he was lead astray, he came back in the end, and their friendship was made stronger through these crucibles.
When she needed help, he was there. When she wanted somepony to talk to, he was there. When she simply needed a shoulder to cry on, he was always there. A steadfast companion, a loyal friend, and a pillar of stability in her often hectic life.
She knew him better than anypony, and she kept him on the right path. Indeed even the princesses, for all there millennia of experience, found it surprising. Earlier in their lives the princesses knew him as a blight, his name inspired dread in all. But now, now he was a trusted acquaintance, a draconequus who valued friendship.
Being a spirit merely reinforced his role as a foundation in her life. He never had problems of his own, never suffered from the afflictions of the mortal state. Instead, her problems and worries became his, as well as her hopes and dreams. For he was steadfast in his devotion, and came to value their friendship above all.
And the spirit of chaos enjoyed being a pillar of stability in her life. It gave him purpose and gratification to do so, far more than idle mischief ever had. For the first time in his long, long life, he had a purpose, a home, and a friend. He felt true happiness, far above the temporary satisfaction he used to gain from his antics.
But as time went on, he began to feel true melancholy as well.
For her, he was stable, a foundation for her life, and a true friend. Yet for him, the blessing of immortality, once praised by him for enabling endless chaos, quickly became a curse. Never before had something so mortal, so temporal had any sway over him. Once the only emotions he knew were satisfaction and disappointment, yet now, now he knew of joy, but that left him vulnerable to sadness.
Everything that is mortal will decay in time. This was the inevitable truth. He sought alternatives for years, yet for all his magic, his knowledge, the long nights of hidden research, there was no cure for the mortal curse, but he did try. Countless hours spent, every free moment he had. She didn't notice, of course, for he was always there when she needed him. Sipping tea, talking, joking. But for every peal of laughter his heart grew heavier, and it hurt. It deeply hurt.
For the first time in his long life, he knew helplessness.
Imprisonment at the hooves of the Elements hardly counted, for if he truly tried, he could have escaped and nullified them. But it was always more fun to make the conflict less one sided. Actual helplessness, where his magic and knowledge failed, that was a foreign feeling to him. As it began to set in, he began to know despair as well.
Sadness, helplessness, despair. Three feelings he had never felt before, all part of an emotional hurricane swelling in his heart. He never let it show though. He remained strong and steadfast, for he was her foundation.
The years formed decades, which slowly began to pile up. She aged. Time, with his scythe, left marks upon her face. He bleached away color, the pink of her mane giving way streaks of grey. She noticed, but she did not understand, for her life was merely progressing, and she still had her foundational friend.
For the spirit, it was all he was drawn to. Every crease, every grey strand, every slowing step she took—they were reminders. Reminders of his helplessness, his cursed immortality, and his detachment from the mortal strain.
She was grateful for his decades of constant friendship. He scorned his helplessness.
The time came. There was no neat ending, no gentle break. Their story simply stopped.
Gazing at the slab, the spirit felt the weight of grief upon his heart. How fleeting and insignificant their relationship was, how quickly mortals pass by! On the slab were two numbers, and between them a dash. How could their decades of friendship, of happiness, of trials and tribulations overcome, how could they be reduced to a mere dash etched into a stone, which too would fade away in years?
His reformation, the beginning of their friendship. The reinforcement Tirek provided. Every cup of tea, every small bit of mischief, every quiet afternoon in the cottage—it was gone, lost in the swirling vortex of time, and all that remained was that little dash and memories.
What was the point of it all? Fleeting happiness for inevitable sorrow. If it was not meant to last, why bother in the first place?
With the grief came regret.
Perhaps he could have tried harder at finding a solution. He wished he could have given more happiness to her, to have known how precious life was to the mortal soul, and how fragile it could be.
But then again, what was the point?
He had existed for millennia, he knew how insignificant three score could be. It was in front of him, after all, the small dash mocking him. Mocking him for spending too much time with her, yet not enough. Reminding him that every moment they shared was lost, only to be remembered by him.
He didn't know what to feel. It was all there. Sorrow, anger, regret—they dragged him down and penetrated his very soul. Their time together had been a bonfire, and now all that remained were the cold ashes, washing away in the rains of time.
"How do you do it?" he choked out to the white alicorn beside him. If she replied, he did not hear it.
For the first time, Discord wept.
