Eternity

by DawnFade

Rating: everyone
Tags: Slice of Life, Sad, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Dinky Hooves, Romance, Pipsqueak
Length: 4910

Pipsqueak and Dinky have a series of epiphanies over the course of their lives.

Over their lives, Pipsqueak and Dinky have some crucial realizations that help them move on from their past and accept the future.

Three chapters, three stages in their lives.

Sequel to Pirates For A Day.

If you read the first story and loved it for the lack of shipping and pure childlike innocence, then I urge you not to taint the memory by reading this sequel. Pipsqueak and Dinky are shipped together, unlike the original.

Fan Reading!

Published 2012-01-07 03:38:35 UTC
Last updated 2012-01-17 08:08:04 UTC

Chapter 1

As time passes, there are few things that remain eternal.

The stars? Nay, for they flicker in and out at the behest of the Princess.

The mountains? Nay, for those who live longest have watched their rise and flow as stone seas.

Even life, the energy within beings, is finite.

It is love that reigns eternal. The strongest and purest force around which the world blooms and grows. The most powerful love transcends time itself so that it may never falter.

The coldest season rolled across the world as it had done so infinite times before and infinite times to come. It froze the lakes and blanketed the world in white.

A little town held steadfast against the cold, the pinpricks of warmth emanating not from fires but from ponies as they held each other tight.

The chills of winter outside the window were completely lost on the entwined couple. They shifted slightly on the small bed, lips breaking for just a moment.

“You need a bigger bed, Pip,” Dinky whispered with a smile.

The young stallion grinned back and pecked her lips lightly. “I’m not sure, I kinda like being squished together.”

They giggled as they kissed once more, Pipsqueak gently stroking her fair mane. He looked in her eyes and saw a beauty that his icicle-framed window could never grant. The soft grey of her fur tinged with a heated pink blush as she planted little kisses around his lips. Her eyes, when they flickered open every few seconds, beheld two golden rings that rimmed an abyss the likes of which he would be happy to fall down. A few strands of yellow hair hung across her face and Pipsqueak quickly brushed them aside so that nothing marred her visage.

As with many things in the world, their moment together was broken too early by a knock on his bedroom door. A mare’s voice, that of his mothers, rung through the thin wood. “Pippy, I think you should take Dinky home before the snow gets too deep. Pippy? I’m coming in!” Leaving no time for response, the door swung open.

The two ponies on the bed only had time to shuffle away from each other and attempt to look innocent before the light brown mare stuck her head in. From the slight twists at the corners of her mouth, she knew exactly what they had been doing. The red patches on their cheeks did not help their case. “Now, Pippy, try not to do that while I’m home,” she said, winking.

“We were just kissing!” spluttered Pipsqueak, his adolescent voice cracking slightly. Dinky buried her face in her hooves, embarrassment manifest.

“Ah-ah-ah! Don’t need to hear it!” His mother placed her hooves over her ears. “I just wanted to say that you should take Dinky home before we get snowed in.” She waved a hoof in mock horror. “Celestia forbid she’s forced to spend the night here!”

The young stallion thought that sounded like a very nice idea. Unfortunately, his mother had known him for his entire life and he could hide nothing.

“Pippy,” she said sternly, “I know that look. Don’t start getting up to mischief now, just go and walk Dinky home.”

“I wasn’t doing anything!” he exclaimed, mind still a-whirl with images of himself and his fillyfriend curled up by the fire.

The matriarch ignored him, addressing Dinky. “Darling, it’s been lovely seeing you again. You’re always welcome in our house.”
Dinky brushed some strands of hair from her eyes, the blush clearing from her cheeks. “Thanks Mrs Pipsqueak’s mum.”

“Oh, pshaw. Just call me Corral, dear.” Pipsqueak’s mother left, her hoof steps echoing as she went downstairs.

Dinky slid off the bed and trotted over to the small mirror she had forced Pipsqueak to put in his room and began fixing her mane, which had become somewhat dishevelled due to their activities. “I like your mum,” she said merrily. “She’s nice.”

“And nosy,” Pipsqueak muttered, hopping off the bed and stretching.

The young mare turned to him and smiled, hair now in a manageable state. “Shall we?”

“It would be my pleasure, m’lady.” Pipsqueak stood by the doorway and made a show of holding the door open. They were both laughing as they descended the stairs.

With a called-out farewell, they left the warm cottage and stepped out into the chilly winter air. Light snow blanketed the ground and more drifted lazily from the sky. Dinky shivered when she stepped off the doorstep and into the soft whiteness so Pipsqueak stepped closer, using his warmth to help her. She nuzzled him in return and they began to walk.

The snow-capped houses of Ponyville painted a peaceful portrait of the town: sleepy, undisturbed and untroubled. Little foals watched the white roads with wonder, eyes wide as their parents explained it to them. Truly, through a foal’s eyes it would seem a queer magic indeed that could cover the lands in this shining splendour. The evening sun was dulled behind clouds, yet the parts it still reached glowed as if they were imbued with Celestia’s light. It was almost too heavenly to look upon.

Their path took them to the edges of town, following a little path that curved around next to the Whitetail Wood before re-entering Ponyville. The two ponies hadn’t ventured inside the forest as much lately, preferring the warmth and comfort of their homes and beds, but it still held a reservoir of nostalgic fondness in their hearts.

Which is why the young mare stopped walking suddenly, staring at the ghostly yet friendly trees.

“Dinky?” questioned Pipsqueak as he stopped too.

“It looks so beautiful this time of year, don’t you think?” she whispered, her breath visible in the chilly air.

Pipsqueak turned his eyes to the ivory-coloured canopy that cast a gentle shadow through the deeper woods. The greyish tinge to the bark made it seem like an old-fashioned photograph, like the ones his mother had of her childhood. It filled his chest with warmth that kept even the most biting of gusts at bay.

“Do you want to take a little walk? It’s been a while,” he suggested, still drinking in the sight of the almost fairytale appearance of the forest.

“Yeah,” she replied. That was all she needed to say, for words held no value in the presence of such beauty.

The adolescent ponies trotted slowly past the treeline, stepping over large roots and icy shrubs still frozen with the morning dew that coated them despite the sun. It had been over a month since their last foray into Whitetail Wood, many weeks before the snow began and winter was ushered in once more. Holidays and family had kept them away from this vestige of their childhood, not unwillingly however for they certainly enjoyed the holiday season as much as any other ponies their age.

But the forest was special to these two ponies. They had shared thousands of memories under those leaves as they grew and their friendship blossomed into something more. It was at the edge of the forest that they shared the first of many kisses and finally acknowledged what they had both known for months.

“I love the forest during autumn, don’t you Pip?” a much younger Dinky had squeaked as they trotted through the multicoloured leaves, heading back towards Ponyville after another successful voyage upon the high seas.

“Yeah, I like all the colours and stuff. They’re pretty,” Pipsqueak said, not quite as good with words as he would one day become.

Dinky scooped up a bright violet leaf and placed it in her mane. “There,” she giggled, “Now I’m pretty!”

The colt looked at her and had to hide his red cheeks. ‘Pretty’ did not do his friend justice, in his opinion, and he had trouble thinking of a word that did. He had yet to learn of ‘angelic’ or ‘radiant’ or ‘incandescent’ so he was limited to the best his mind could offer.

“You are... bright... to me,” he said softly, slowing his pace to a halt as she did the same.

“Bright?” she asked confusedly.

He took a deep breath to try and vainly calm his racing heart. “Around you, everything else is dull...”

She had stepped closer, confusion draining from her face to be replaced by a timid smile. “I... like you too, Pip,” she mumbled and closed her eyes, leaning forward.

Pipsqueak panicked, swallowing nervously and quickly mimicking her actions as best he could.

Their lips met and the feeling in his chest resounded through the memories and into the older Pipsqueak’s heart. That feeling had never gone away and he didn’t think it ever would.

A massive, familiar oak tree revealed itself. Running water from the little snow that did melt had refrozen in artful, shining patters down the big trunk. Even in the grey season it remained beautiful.

“It’s gotten a bit smaller since last time,” Dinky said as she rested a hoof against the thick bark.

“I think it’s us who are getting bigger.” He joined her at the base of the tree, climbing with a grunt onto a lower branch. “Hey, all the old hoof-holds are still here,” he looked down with a grin, “Up for a little mast-climbing?”

She giggled and heaved herself up next to him. “Sure! Just be careful not to slip from the ice.”

Rolling his eyes, Pipsqueak ascended to the next layer of branches. “Yes mother.” Dinky poked his flank which caused him to squeak as he pulled himself up, making her burst out laughing. “Not fair!” he called down, holding out a hoof to help her up.
They scaled the tree as they had done so many times before, hoofs instinctively going to all the stable grips and branches with practiced ease.

Pipsqueak found he could no longer climb to the highest branch, as it bent warningly under his hoof. With a sigh, he settled on a slightly lower one that managed to hold his weight, and a moment later Dinky’s too. She looked at him questioningly.
“We’re too big, Dinky. Unless you feel like falling out of the tree again.” He snorted with barely suppressed laughter. “You always had a knack for that.”

She lightly punched his arm, careful not to push him off. After a moment of glaring, her smile broke through and they snuggled closer. Even from a lower branch, the view was still spectacular.

Pipsqueak had often internally described the forest as endless, stretching to infinity. It certainly seemed that way, especially now that snow covered the seams between land and forest like perfectly blended stitching. Even distant mountains and hills merged with the landscape to create a real winter wonderland.

But it was in the eyes of the young mare beside him that he truly saw eternity. And as Dinky looked back, her expression softened as she saw the same.

The only words that would not ruin the moment instantly revealed themselves to his mind. For many weeks they had hovered on the tip of his tongue, never quite able to escape. Only then, with the strength of all their memories, the ones they made and the ones they would make, was Pipsqueak able to say them.

“I love you.”

“I love you too,” she replied without hesitation as some part of him knew she would.

They leaned closer and shared a kiss that surpassed all their previous hormone-fuelled actions, starting something that was purely their own. A magic unlike any other.

The strongest and purest force in the universe, acting through the two young ponies as it always has and always will.

Love.

Chapter 2

It is the virtue of the loved that time can never hurt them.

Though they were older and subject to the responsibilities of life as their parents had been before them, Pipsqueak and Dinky had never seen each other age. Through their eyes, they never grew old. Through loving eyes, they were eternal.

Many years had passed since the declaration that solidified their bond. Further vows had been made, swearing by the icy oak and their shared memories, in front of and under the guidance of other ponies, their friends and family, but both ponies remember the day when they realised their love.

It was perhaps their fondest memory, though they sometimes couldn’t choose between their marriage and the birth of their son. Young Patch was the pride of their lives. He enriched their every moment with his very presence. The little foal had grown into an adventurous young colt much like his father.

Though he had his father’s fur, his mane and eyes were as huge and as golden as the mare who birthed him. A certain talent for exploration had also been inherited, leading to many frantic searches through town as he got himself into what he thought were adventures. Dinky called them ‘trouble’.

Pipsqueak smiled fondly at the memory of one particular incident involving a shooting star. Patch had seen it as he looked out his window at night and thought he could go and collect it. Patch the Star-Hunter was the name he went by that night. The little colt had seized his antique toy sword and charged into the blackness that enveloped the Everfree Forest. Pipsqueak’s smile faltered as the memory of how scared he and his wife had been played across his senses.

It was no Whitetail Wood. Happiness and good memories were rarely the result of forays beneath the aphotic canopy. The younger parents of the Star-Hunter knew this and acted quickly, rallying every pony who was able and starting a search party. Fortunately, the unicorn who ran the town library was a master organiser and she managed to keep panic from overwhelming them.

Less than three hours after his grand quest had begun, Patch the Star-Hunter was returned to his parent’s custody, dirty and scraped but alive and happy. An experience like that, however, has a lasting effect on parents. Restrictions were imposed and enforced so that they would never need to feel such terror again.

That was why Pipsqueak cautioned his son to stay close as the family walked amongst the spring trees. Critters skipped across the uneven ground, exciting the colt and making him run after them. Only Dinky’s quick reflexes stopped Patch from disappearing into the undergrowth. She heaved backwards, his tail in her mouth.

“Uh-uh, you heard what daddy said. Gotta stay close, okay?” she said to her son, who ceased his struggle with a groan.
Pipsqueak smiled broadly. He liked the title of ‘daddy’, it made him feel so responsible and grown up. Which he was, when he thought about it. Being a father had shaken loose almost all of the strings he had to his childish nature, for which he was glad. His son needed a stallion, not a colt.

“Do you think it’s still there hun?” he asked amiably, not too concerned with the conversation and just enjoying the walk.

“Of course it will be. It’s been there forever!” she nuzzled Patch and spoke the last word in a silly voice, making him giggle.

“Forever!” he squeaked enthusiastically, causing both parents to laugh. Their son did not know many words, but the ones he did know were always used to their full extent.

Even after all those years, the two older ponies recognised the trees and bushes. There were new ones of course, but this forest was ingrained in their memory more than any other place in the world.

Pipsqueak, despite his responsible adult persona, couldn’t help but quicken his pace as they drew near. As much as he tried to deny it, he had missed this place immensely. Unbeknownst to him, his wife was smiling at his enthusiasm and his son hurried to catch up.

And suddenly, there it was. Towering as ever and yet somehow smaller, the mighty oak tree stood. Unchanging, unmoving. Each curve and rupture in the bark was exactly the same as the ones they remembered.

The married couple approached it slowly, almost reverently, and laid their hooves upon the trunk. It was warm in the spring sunlight and brought smiles to their faces. The feeling in their chests was of nostalgic joy amplified by the bark seemingly warming to their touch, as if greeting old friends. Pipsqueak felt an absurd desire to say ‘hello’ that he quickly suppressed. Little did he know, Dinky shared that same desire, fulfilling it under her breath.

Patch gazed upwards with delight, already planning his route. Before either of his parents could say anything, he scrambled up onto a low hanging branch and began to climb.

His rustling soon caught their attention. “Patch! Slow down and be careful!” his mother called out. Needless to say, she was promptly ignored by the quick little colt.

Pipsqueak made to follow his son, approaching the usual lower hoof-hold. It was too small for his hoof, however, and when he grasped the branch it bent lower. His breath hitched in his throat. The branch had never bent; his hoof had always fit. But no longer.

He tried in vain to pull himself up anyway and the branch held, barely. He grunted with the effort of maintaining his balance.

“Pip...” Dinky’s voice was slightly sad at seeing him struggle to do something he had done his entire life.

“I can do it.” He wobbled slightly and tried to reach up for the next hoof-hold. It was a hole in the bark so small he couldn’t grip it. With a sigh, he uselessly patted his huge hoof over the indentation.

“Pip, I’m sorry.”

He dropped to the ground with a thud, stumbling slightly. “Why can’t I do it? I’ve climbed this tree a million times,” he mumbled to himself.

Dinky trotted closer and nuzzled him comfortingly. “You got bigger. It was going to happen someday.”

Pipsqueak shook his head. “Yeah, but not with this. This was supposed to be forever. This wasn’t supposed to change.” He felt tears in his eyes, a strangely foreign feeling. There hadn’t been reason to cry for a long time.

“Oh, Pip. I know how you feel.” They embraced each other far beneath the branch on which they confessed their love. Every now and then a small leaf would flutter down, shaken loose by their son. One of them caught in Dinky’s mane, unnoticed by the couple.

“Why did we have to get older, Dinky?” sniffled Pipsqueak, burying his head in his wife’s mane.

For a moment, she had no answer. She too missed their younger bodies, running through the forest and scaling trees with ease. Back when she could see a world beyond her own, built with her mind and populated by her imaginings. When things such as ‘money’ and ‘insurance’ were simply part of the gibberish language that older ponies would speak.

Dinky knew her mind had been tempered by reality, she knew that her other world was slowly fading away in the recesses of her memory. That fantastic, wonderful place of colour and laughter...

But that world was for children alone. That’s what made it what it was. She was an adult, and adults had no place in the realm of childish imagination. Dinky had left that world, yes, but found a new one, infinitely more tangible and satisfying than even her younger self’s wildest fantasies.

She had her own family now, a husband she loved and child she adored. She would not give them up for all the pretend pirate ships in the world.

So she stepped away from her husband, lifting his head high with her hoof, and looked up.

Patch was at the top, sitting on the highest branch. The wind whipped through his golden mane and his matching eyes were wide, but not from fear. He was seeing what they had seen all those years ago. Pipsqueak had once called the view endless, even when he knew it wasn’t. Just as he had thought his childhood would be endless, and it wasn’t.

The couple knew what landscape had their son so captivated, they had lived it themselves. They had felt the same wonder, the impossible sense of infinity.

“Maybe,” Dinky whispered, “We have to get older so others have the chance to be young.”

The father felt his tears cease flowing, his grief abated by those wise words. He looked back down at his wife, and agreed.

For though time can be the cruellest of companions, those imbued with love need never fear it. Some perceive the passage of time as closing doors and decaying opportunities, but this is not so. Because when it strips possibilities away from someone, it must grant them to somebody else.

Pipsqueak had enjoyed his childhood and, now that it was over, Patch could enjoy his. Although the father would never again climb his oaken mast, the joy he felt would return in the form of his son’s excited eyes.

That continuation, that eternal cycle, is why time can never hurt the loved.

Chapter 3

The end.

Only, it never truly is.

Even when all is quiet upon the dead fields, a faint breeze will stir the air, and it will carry the dandelion snow of a thousand flowers and cast them across the land. New fields will grow and, in turn, play their part in the larger pattern.

Two weakened flowers, two crumbling winter leaves, closed the cottage door behind them gently. Pipsqueak mused that their every action was gentle these days, encumbered as they were with age. It was a stray thought, and fleeting. His attention was upon his wife, now grey in hair as much as fur. Even now, his old heart throbbed when she smiled.

Dinky was still smaller than him, though they had both shrunk as aged ponies are wont to do. If he concentrated, he could make out the wrinkles and smile lines that marred her soft face. He preferred not to concentrate, as his failing eyes coated his wife in an angelic fuzz that made her look not a day older than she was at their wedding.

It had been winter then as well. There was always something special about the cold season for the two ponies, and they unanimously decided to have their joining take place during it.

The location, too, had been instantly agreed upon. It is common for the bride and groom to choose a place that has personal significance to them, and there were none more significant to the couple as the oak tree.

His mother had not been able to stop crying through the entire ceremony, squeaking with a new round of sobs every few seconds as Pipsqueak and Dinky looked into each other’s eyes. A very light snow had settled on the ground around the oak tree, yet none of the guests shivered. All eyes were centred on the couple as the purple unicorn who led the joining said her lines.

Dinky had worn a shining white dress with a short trail that sparkled amongst the snow. She had jokingly told the designer, an enthusiastic white-furred mare, that she wanted to be able to climb a tree wearing the dress. Though slightly mortified, the mare had carefully crafted the dress to allow a lot of freedom to move.

For his part, Pipsqueak wore his father’s suit, a heavy black coat with a brown patch sown on one side. He had felt more than a little embarrassed to stand next to his radiant wife-to-be, as if he was unworthy. Her smile had changed that, however. As soon as she met his eyes, walking down the makeshift isle, his anxiety had dissipated like the very snow they stood on would.

Around her neck, he remembered, a little velvet pouch had hung. An exact copy had rested against his chest as well. Inside was a link to their past, small golden and round in form.

The fond memories reminded him of an important detail. “Do you have them?” he asked his wife.

Her horn glowed softly and a small worn brown bag floated out of her mane. “Always, love.” The magic wavered and the bag dropped to the ground with a clink. Pipsqueak stepped forward and picked it up with his teeth, letting Dinky lean on him for a moment.

“Are you sure you want to go?” he whispered, only realising the double meaning of his words as he spoke them.

She looked at him tiredly and smiled. “Take me to the pond, Pip.” Her voice was soft and weakened but he heard her all the same.

Together, they elderly couple walked the old path amongst the older trees. The wind was cold and biting, yet it didn’t touch them. The snow was thick and falling, yet it did not obstruct them.

The forest they had spent their lives in was granting them their last reprieve from the elements. Branches lowered subtly to guard against the gusts of air, and leaves caught crystallised water before it reached the ground.

Though their progress was slow and careful, their arrival at the little pond was inevitable.

Pipsqueak helped Dinky to the edge and placed the pouch on the ground, lightly kicking it open to spill the two coins onto the ground.

Dinky sank to the ground and Pipsqueak joined her. “It’s frozen.”

The pond had a thin sheet of ice across the top, like a pure mirror. Pipsqueak liked how it reflected everything in a strange blur. It seemed like two different ponies looked back at them as they gazed into it.

“I wanted to put the coins back where we found them,” the old stallion said, nudging one of the coins so a particular side faced upwards. He wasn’t sure if he had the strength to break the ice without hurting himself.

“This can be close enough,” Dinky assured him weakly.

The two old ponies lay next to each other and watched the pond. It glittered under the sunlight, a thousand tiny sparkles like bits scattered across a road. A beautiful mirror reflecting beauty. Pipsqueak was not much of a poet, but the sight filled him with an intense hope that even after he was gone there would be artistry for others to marvel at.

“The ice will melt,” he said, not sadly but with warmth, “Soon this pond will go back to normal.”

Dinky’s reply was barely audible and her eyes were closed. “I guess we should enjoy it while we can…”

Her breath no longer mingled with his. Silently, Dinky lay beside him, her head resting against his neck. She was warm though, the echo of life giving Pipsqueak comfort. The familiar pulsing of her heart had stopped, leaving her completely still. Not the slightest breeze disturbed the silvery strands of hair that hung across her face.

Even in the embrace of death, she was beautiful.

Pipsqueak knew he was not as weak as his wife had been. Perhaps, if he roused himself, he could go home and live for more days or weeks or years.

But those would be days and weeks and years without Dinky.

He wasn’t going anywhere.

Pipsqueak snuggled closer to his wife and nuzzled her cheek gently. Her lips were curved in a faint ghostly smile that he liked. It was almost as if she was happy to wait for him to join her. The idea flooded his chest with warmth and his heart beat stronger than it had in days.

Suddenly, it faltered and his breath hitched. The surprise of finality coursed through his every vein like little icy caresses. It was too soon... He thought he had hours for the cold to lead him gently into the dusk of life. His chest spiked with pain that was numbed by the snow beneath him. Shuddering with the next burst, Pipsqueak felt his lungs constrict. Air was short and he sucked quietly for more.

“D-Dinky...” he gasped, trying desperately to focus on his wife’s face. His old eyes provided no relief. “Please...” Pipsqueak begged softly as his chest wracked with another spasm. “Please... Let me see her...” He knew not who he was trying to speak to, be it Princess or Deity, yet his final plea was heeded.

By nature or by power, his vision cleared and the snowy forest drifted away from him. A little grey filly with great golden eyes grinned at him from atop a distant oak tree. The pain in his chest receded and he smiled back. The world was blurry except for her. The world was dark, except for her. She was bright to him.

“C’mon, Pip!” she squeaked, voice echoing in the foggy clearing. “Let’s go exploring!”

Pulling himself to his hooves, Pipsqueak felt an odd weight drop from his shoulders. Looking down, he found that he was standing between an old couple lying together with matching smiles. They looked so happy sleeping like that, so Pipsqueak was careful not to wake them when he trotted off to join Dinky.

There was no time to talk to some old ponies. He had to climb, he had to run and play.

He had to live.

Beneath the white canopy, the married couple rested.

There were no tears frozen upon their cold cheeks, nor was there sadness in their final breaths.

Because they were imbued by something more, something amazing.

Something magical.

A love so strong that even death is fleeting in comparison.

And that is eternity.