//------------------------------// // An Old Friend's Farewell // Story: Trials of a Changeling Queen // by CTVulpin //------------------------------// That play we planned to open our first season with, Changeling of the Opera, was not a small production. Our detractors said it was too much of a challenge for a new, untested company like The Shifting Perspectives Theater. In a way, they were right; it was obvious from the start that two-dozen Changelings was barely enough for the cast and company and there was no choice but to try and contract with an established orchestra and attract ponies to work on the stage and house crews. Cabbage wasn’t worried, though. She was certain that there were plenty more like me, Harlequin, Maggie, and Barnacle Salt out there – ponies willing to put aside fear and commit to redeeming the Hive. Ponies she was certain would never abandon her. A mustard-yellow earth pony with a red, green, and blue-striped mane stepped off the train at the Canterlot station and breathed in deeply with a smile on his face. “Ah, Canterlot air,” he said, glancing back at his companion, “nothing quite like it, eh, Salt?” Barnacle Salt, a grizzled, caramel-cream pegasus with a seaweed-green mane and wearing an old sailor’s jacket, simply grunted as he stepped off the train. “Hey, come on,” the earth pony, Harlequin, said, “you don’t want your little bug seeing you so down, do you?” Barnacle grunted again and tried to smile. “Yer right, Quin,” he said, “but… I’m worried she won’t take the news well.” Harlequin gave Barnacle a sideways look. “If you’re having second thoughts, then maybe…” he said, trailing off expectantly. The grizzled Pegasus shook his head and started walking with purpose. “No,” he said, “when there’s a storm arising, standing around worrying is worse than pointless. I have to tell her myself.” “That’s what I thought,” Harlequin said, following after Barnacle. The two stallions arrived at the Shifting Perspectives Theater and walked in to witness a fervent discussion between Trixie, Maggie Pie, Chrysalis, and Turnip on the stage, while around a dozen Changelings watched from the third row of seats. Trixie glanced over, spotted Harlequin and Barnacle approaching, and said, “Well, look what the manticore dragged in. Any chance either of you fine stallions knows how to teach a ‘ling to dance?” “No,” Harlequin said slowly. “Why?” “Because,” Trixie said, aiming a pointed gaze at Chrysalis and Turnip, “It seems that’s a skill none of our cast members possess.” “There used to be Changelings who had to learn to dance,” Turnip said, “but, sadly,” he glared at Chrysalis, “they are no longer among the living.” Chrysalis weathered the glare without batting an eye. “I still stand by suggestion that we simply cut the musical numbers,” she said. “What, no music in a play titled ‘Changeling of the Opera’?!” Maggie exclaimed. “Have you even read the script? The songs provide over half the central plot.” “Ahem,” Barnacle Salt cut in. “Anypony know where I can find Cabbage?” “In her office,” Turnip said immediately, “eager for a distraction from this, quote ‘endless circle of debate.’” Barnacle nodded his thanks and headed to the backstage area, while Harlequin decided to add his two bits to the discussion. As he walked down the hall to Cabbage’s office, Barnacle felt his feet start to drag a little. “Ah, c’mon ye old sea legs,” he chided his heavy hooves, “there ain’t anything to be ashamed of.” Taking a deliberately higher-stepping gait than normal, he covered the remaining distance and knocked on the door to Cabbage’s office. The door flew open seemingly under its own power, and Barnacle found himself pushed back a few steps from the force of Cabbage Patch hitting him with a flying hug. “You’re back!” the young Queen, in her typical earth pony guise, exclaimed happily. “I missed you so much, Captain.” “I can tell,” Barnacle said with a chuckle, returning the hug. “Nothing like a bit of fresh oats after weeks of hardtack and preserves, right?” Cabbage pulled away slightly and gave Barnacle a sour look. “You’re more than just-” she started to protest, until she noticed the amusement behind Barnacle’s smile. “Did you just tease me?” she asked. “Aye,” Barnacle answered. Cabbage returned his smile, released him from the hug, and led him into the office. “I have to admit, though,” Cabbage said, “you’re not wrong. Preserved love does lack a certain something compared to… fresh.” She walked around her desk to her chair and took a seat, motioning Barnacle to do likewise. “Anyway, how was the trip?” she asked. “I imagine it must have been a little tricky to drum up interest without a solid show schedule, but…” Barnacle’s wings fidgeted a bit. “It wasn’t so bad,” he said. “I mean, I won’t claim we had much success, but there are ponies here and there that recognized Harlequin and me from the old travelin’ show and fondly recalled Turnip an’ Quin’s act. We went to Hoofington, and it seems like most of the town wanted to turn out just to support Trixie. We made it all the way to Clydesport too.” Barnacle’s voice trailed off then, his gaze dropped, and Cabbage felt a confusing mix of emotions rise up in him. “What happened, Barnacle?” Cabbage asked, worried. “I…” Barnacle coughed lightly. “I met up with Rosie,” he said. Cabbage’s heart fluttered a little at the sound of the name, one she hadn’t heard in several years. Rosie ran a beachside restaurant in the little town of Clydesport, the place where Cabbage and Barnacle had first met. The former sailor had stumbled upon the starving, frightened little orphan, and his first thought had been to take her to Rosie’s place and get Cabbage some food. Barnacle had tried to leave Cabbage in Rosie’s care, figuring a kindly and financially stable mare would be a better home for a foundling than with an old, washed-up stallion like himself. Cabbage Patch, however, had formed an immediate preference for Barnacle’s charitable concern for her wellbeing and stuck by him. Still, up until the Trixie came to Clydesport and recruited Barnacle and Cabbage into her troupe, Rosie had been a good friend and crucial factor in helping Cabbage start healing from her emotional wounds. And now Barnacle Salt sat before Cabbage, speaking Rosie’s name with an emotional subtext the Changeling couldn’t quite unravel. “Is… Is she ok?” Cabbage asked. “She’s perfectly fine,” Barnacle hastened to reassure Cabbage. “The restaurant’s still doing good business. When Quin and I met up with her, I wasn’t sure how to tell her that little filly I found in the garbage grew up to be a Changeling Queen, but it turns out she already knew. Been followin’ our story as best she could since we left Clydesport, and your… ascension is still making newspapers across the nation. Anyway, I started fillin’ her in on the little adventures she hadn’t heard about, an’ the details the papers left out, and then I started noticing how pretty her eyes were…” Barnacle kept talking, but a mental giggle in the Hive Mind distracted Cabbage from what he was saying. Who was that? Cabbage asked, I know that was meant for me to pick up. Sorry, my Queen, came the mental reply. This is Lemon Zest. I didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but I’m right outside your office right now and it’s hard not to pick up what you and the old pony are feeling. I see, Cabbage said. But what’s so funny? Oh, Lemon replied, I was just finding it funny that Barnacle there’s supposed to be a great storyteller, but right now he’s babbling like a twitter-pated colt in a cheesy romance book. Twitter-pated? Cabbage thought. She tuned back into what Barnacle was saying. He was apparently still on the subject of Rosie’s pretty eyes and the probability of getting lost in them, and suddenly the pieces fell into place and Cabbage realized exactly what the pegasus was feeling. Oh, my goodness. “Barnacle,” Cabbage said aloud, cutting into Barnacle’s ramblings, “I’m getting the distinct feeling you fell in love with Rosie.” Barnacle stammered, and Cabbage felt guilt building up in him. “No need to feel bad about it,” Cabbage said. “I think it’s great, and I know it’s possible for a pony to feel love for more than one pony - or Changeling - at a time.” Barnacle smiled briefly at Cabbage, but she could still sense feelings of guilt inside him. “That’s true, lass,” he said, frowning “but… well, it weren’t a one-sided revelation. Rosie admitted she’s been attracted to me fer years, and we got to talkin’ about the future.” “What, like, marriage future?” Cabbage asked, wide-eyed. “No,” Barnacle said, averting his gaze. “Nothin’ set in stone, anyway. But… We did some serious talkin’ about me place in the world, and in your life, lass. To be frank, I can’t see myself being of much use to this new theater you’re building. I spin yarns well enough, but I’m no character actor and even if my old ship-captaining skills weren’t rusted from misuse I don’t think they’d fit well to runnin’ a play. And you,” he looked Cabbage in the eye, smiling sadly, “yer grown up, standin’ strong on yer own, and have plenty of folks that can support you if ye stumble.” He's… leaving me! Cabbage realized with a shock that caused the entire Hive Mind to grow momentarily still and direct its attention to the office. Changelings in the theater and throughout Canterlot sent queries about the Queen’s outburst and distress. Lemon Zest, evidently still eavesdropping, obligingly replayed the last bit of conversation for everyling, and the Hive nearly erupted in response. With the Hive being as small as it was, each Changeling’s voice carried a weight most were still growing used to as they strove to make their opinions known. Leaving? Didn’t he just get back? Barnacle’s a great source of sustenance. We can’t lose him! Yeah, he just got back, and I hardly noticed any difference in the weeks he was gone. Well, a Collector like you probably wouldn’t notice, Morph. Your lot gets Love at its peak. Chrysalis, well-practiced in making herself heard over the babble, managed to wrangle and focus the Hive Mind with a single statement: We cannot allow such a reliable food source to escape our clutches, Cabbage Patch. After a short moment, other mental voices started to speak in assent. Cabbage Patch shook her head. No, she thought in firm command. But, Chrysalis protested. Chrysalis. Shut. Up. Cabbage mentally shouted. Barnacle is not a prisoner; not our slave. He’s a friend. If he wants to… to leave… She began to cry, and suddenly found herself wrapped up in Barnacle’s wings and front legs. “Are you… going to leave me?” she choked out. “Shh,” Barnacle said. “Not forever, lass. I’m retirin’, not dying. Look,” he let Cabbage go so he could look her in the eye, “I’m goin’ back to Clydesport in the next couple days, help Rosie find somepony to run her place fer a bit, and we’ll both come see the opening of this theater. After that, we’ll see how things work out. Ok?” Cabbage’s eyes were still pouring tears, but she smiled and nodded. “Of course,” she said. “Your happiness has always been the most important thing to me. After all, I needed you happy so I wouldn’t starve. That was then, though; I think I can learn to get by with you being happy even if we’re not together.” She and Barnacle embraced again, and Cabbage said, “Hurry back though; I want to repay Rosie for her kindness all those years ago.” The old sailor and the Changeling queen maintained their embrace for a while longer, until the love coming from Barnacle seemed to fill every corner of Cabbage’s being. The beginnings of a dark grumbling came into the Hive Mind, but was quickly covered and silenced by the majority, giving the queen as much privacy as possible. Some time later, Turnip walked into Cabbage’s office to find the queen sitting at her desk, yellow eyes staring deep into a double-hoof-sized glob of preserved love. “What’s that?” Turnip asked, though he already suspected the answer. Cabbage glanced up at Turnip briefly before returning her gaze to the green gel. “Some of the love Barnacle let me have before he left,” she said. “Probably the last I’m going to get from him for a long time, aside from incidental scraps in passing. I know it’s silly, but… I’m wishing I could make it last longer. Forever, to be honest.” Turnip shut the office door gently and walked up to the desk. “I thought you might be feeling that way,” he said, “and I might be able to do something about that.” “Hm?” Cabbage looked at him curiously. “Thanks to Chrysalis’ Folly,” Turnip explained, “I was the only full Lorekeeper left to maintain our collective memories, and I thought most of our lore lost forever because of it. However, since I’ve started training Lemon Zest as a Lorekeeper, I’ve started recalling bits of lost stories and old practices. I guess there are things buried deep in the Hive Mind that will take multiple Lorekeepers working together to uncover. I don’t know if we can ever recover everything, but Lemon and I did dredge up a memory of something interesting. Epochs ago, when the Queen’s policy was to spread far and wide in search of love to… harvest, Changelings had a way of preserving love even longer than the normal gels last. If you’ll permit, I can try the process on this,” he pointed to the preserved love on the desk. Intrigued, Cabbage nodded. Turnip picked the preserved love up in his magic and narrowed his eyes in concentration. The gelantized love jiggled and deformed as Turnip put pressure on it, trying to press in equally on all sides at once. Deep creases appeared on the love’s surface, and for a tense moment Cabbage was afraid it was going to split or explode, but then suddenly the large glob shrank down to a fraction of its original size, turning into a green bead shaped like an irregular starburst that fell out of Turnip’s magic field and landed with a click on the desk. “Well,” Turnip said, a little out of breath, “it actually worked. Here,” he levitated the bead and held it close to Cabbage for her inspection. “Compressed to this degree, the love should last near to forever. Changelings used to make these as emergency rations because they not only last so long, but they can be disguised as part of a bracelet or necklace – notice there’s a little hole for a string to pass through – and only the Changeling that made them can break them, releasing the love for consumption. Since I made this one, you can keep it without worrying about accidently breaking it.” Cabbage took the bead in her own magic, studied it, and then slowly smiled. “Thank you, Turnip,” she said. “It’s perfect.” Turnip smiled as well and bowed. “It’s my pleasure to serve, Queen Cabbage Patch.”