//------------------------------// // Chapter Two: Taking Stock // Story: Guilty Hornet [Old Version] // by Zombificus //------------------------------// -GUILTY HORNET- -CHAPTER TWO- "TAKING STOCK" I : REFLECTIONS I awoke slowly the morning after my invasion, evidently having been left undisturbed by my subjects as I slept. Thankfully, I had not overslept: although I was slightly later in waking than I usually was, there was still plenty of time to prepare before the breakfast which I had, last night, ordered my personal chefs to prepare for this morning. Plenty of time for thinking, too. I sat on the end of my bed for a long while, staring across the room at the image in the mirror: a tall, thin changeling mare gazed forlornly back, from her features clearly a member of the Royal Caste – if the crown did not make that much obvious – but her posture lacked any confidence and there were dark bags under her eyes. It took a significant, though not altogether surprising, amount of time for my sleep-addled, stressed-out mind to make the connection that this mare was me. The sight did a lot to wake me up, if only by reminding me of why I looked so bad in the first place. I pushed the worst of the memories away, but even the most recent ones – last night’s letter-reading and the vow – doused the morning numbness in the icy waters of sorrow and regret. I couldn’t help thinking that it would be so much easier if I just locked what had happened in the back of my mind and waited until I no longer remembered it, and following this line of thought I momentarily considered giving up on my promise and doing exactly that. Luckily for both myself and Twilight Sparkle, that thought was quickly banished from my mind: I hadn’t made a mere promise, to be broken if it no longer suited me; I had vowed upon everything I held dear, and that is not something I – or most changelings, I’d like to think - would ever simply turn away from and abandon. Besides, a mare’s life still hung in the delicate balance; the trigger of her untimely death the mere pull of a hair-trigger away: how could I just walk away now? And in the infinitely wide world of magic, there had to be an answer – it was impossible for there not to be. It wouldn’t be easy to find, even less so to cast – the only reason magic-medics wouldn’t jump on the idea of a spell to mend a broken spine would be if it simply took too much out of the caster to be safe, after all – but it would be out there somewhere. My mission now was to find such a spell – or a combination of spells – and cast it successfully on Twilight. No pressure. Sighing, I shuffled away into my en-suite bathroom to make myself presentable, before heading with much-diminished enthusiasm to breakfast. II : SLEEPER SERVICE A little under an hour later, I left the opulent dining room in which my breakfast had been served and headed straight for my new throne room, my ever-dutiful Praetorians at my side as always. Breakfast, undoubtedly delicious as it had been, had done nothing to take my mind off of my sparkling new mental shackles, and I found myself yearning for something to do. Entering the long, elegantly decorated throne room, I called out for my new assistant, Starlit Scrolls, to be brought to the room at once, eager to begin the day’s work. It was to my surprise, then, when I heard a sleepy voice coming from the far side of the titanic golden throne; specifically from the bedraggled, unkempt unicorn mare peering out from behind it. “I’m here, Your-“ she yawned impressively, “…Highness. What do you, uh, require?” I have to admit her appearance took me a little off guard, but I’d seen worse amongst my own people before we took the city and voiced my reaction to the matter without too much delay. “Ms. Scrolls, why in the name of the Verdant Phlogiston were you sleeping in my throne room?” She blinked at me for a moment, evidently not a morning pony, before stumbling her way through an explanation. “Well, I… there wasn’t… I didn’t know where to go, and no one said anything to me, so I just slept here. I’m sorry, I-I didn’t know I was doing anything wrong, I was just so tired and-“ I held up a hoof to silence her, and to my moderate surprise she instantly stopped mid-sentence, eyes widening in anticipation of retaliation. “It’s not your fault, Ms. Scrolls. I ordered a bedroom be set up for you, but evidently someling wasn’t listening when I gave those particular instructions. I thought I was quite clear when I told them to escort you to your lodgings but it would appear I wasn’t clear enough.” Scrolls had another of her episodes of confused blinking, before her eyes widened in understanding and she smiled gratefully. “Th-thank you, Your Highness. I really appreciate it.” Thinking back to my schedule for the day, I realised that the first item on the list would not require Scrolls’ attendance and promptly sent her off to the dining room for some breakfast of her own. “I shan’t need you for a little while, Ms. Scrolls,” I stated, turning to the nearest non-Praetorian soldier and calling: “Legionary! Escort my assistant here to my dining room and have the chefs get her something to eat. I cannot afford to have her attention waver due to hunger; today’s work is very important and I want accurate notes.” Sending me another grateful smile as she left my side, Scrolls trotted alongside the Legionary as he led the way to my dining room. It struck me then that perhaps I was being too nice to the unicorn – civilian though she may be, she had been a member of the Princesses’ staff – and resolved to watch how I acted around her more closely in future. III: THE DAILY MAIL Signalling another Legionary, I requested the morning’s report and she cantered off to fetch it from High Imperator Labium’s second-in-command, Sub-Imperator Mandible. Minutes later, she returned with a small collection of papers and, after saluting smartly, hooved them over to me. The first sheet bore the latest estimates of how much food we had captured, along with how much food our newly claimed territory was likely to produce if we kept it tended to as it had been until this point. This was crucial information, so I read through the report’s entirety multiple times in painstaking detail in order to glean from it the most accurate understanding I could. We had a lot of readily available food, but a much greater number of mouths to feed than it had originally been intended for: this would need to be rationed out amongst both Equestria’s ponies and my changelings if it were to last long enough; something which would need to be organised as soon as the nation stabilised enough for such decrees to be effective. Besides that, the crop yield could theoretically still support the larger population if we downscaled the amount being exported; which would likely be no real problem: if the other nations reacted as badly as I expected them to, we wouldn’t be able to export that much anyway. Setting the food report aside, I skimmed over the contents of the next sheet: another report, but on a subject far removed from the peaceful topic of agriculture and food production. Upon the creamy parchment were multiple short summaries of various combat units’ activities over the past day and a half; amongst them the two squads who had captured the Bearers of Harmony, the General Search and Engagement Unit ‘Stormy Day Matinee’ and its escort, the General Air Assault Unit ‘Upon Great Tempest’. The latter was, I noted sadly, listed as Missing In Action: rarely a term which meant anything besides ‘we haven’t found the bodies yet’. On the brighter side, at first glance the ten missing Legionaries appeared to be the only ones not to have returned to camp: the invasion of Canterlot seemed to be almost complete from a military standpoint. Now would come the more difficult battle: wresting control of its citizens – and then the inhabitants of the rest of the nation – without further bloodshed beyond that which was absolutely necessary. I had ordered my army to use lethal force only as a last resort, and it seemed to have worked so far: no deaths had been reported whatsoever; no easy feat when you’re taking control of a nation’s cultural and military capital. The reports continued on the back of the sheet; and from then onto the first page of the third piece of parchment; where it halted roughly a quarter of the way down the page and promptly switched to the closely-related topic of which areas of the city now lay under our control. Apart from a few small pockets of resistance, Canterlot’s populace appeared to have accepted the coup d’état without much of a fuss: no doubt fearing the repercussions of rebellion against the force which had defeated their army in a day. Although I did not mean them any real harm, it was a good thing the ponies were so afraid of my regime: it would make setting up a stable new nation less arduous, for one, and in addition their lack of organised resistance meant that there was less chance of them dying through whatever response my military might mount to counter such an attempt. A map adorned much of the piece of parchment’s other side, detailing our city’s various districts and their current state of changeling control along with several suggestions for guard placements and patrols to keep Canterlot secure. I was still pondering over which of these might be the better choice when my little pony returned from her brief breakfast, freshly washed and mane styled smartly. Now that she had cleaned herself up, I was able to see the mare as she had presumably looked before my invasion had pushed her to attempt the escape via teleport which could conceivably have killed her if not for her extraordinary luck. I hadn’t looked at her much since our first meeting, preoccupied with other things as I had been, and so I was taken a little by surprise by the sudden realisation, aided by her newly tall, proud posture, that she was significantly larger in build than the other unicorns I’d encountered. Indeed, she was bigger even than the average earth pony – standing an entire half-head above her Legionary escort – but graceful with it in a gentle, light-hooved way. Upon closer inspection, all her features within view were up-scaled from the norm; even her snout was larger: somewhere between the normal and alicorn length but more thickly proportioned than one would expect from the latter’s trademark delicacy. Her big, kind eyes, gleaming topaz, were unencumbered by the oppressive rings of darkness which had previously strangled the joy out of them, and smiled cautiously out from under the cover of her steel blue mane. Unusual as she might look, there was a certain beauty to be seen in her features, which was accentuated well by her subtly atypical mane style. Her long fringe, which had cascaded messily over her eyes in prior hours, was neatly combed so that its subtle V-shape stood out, the whole arrangement being held up by a simple navy headband. It neatly parted on either side of her horn, and the back of her mane likewise split in the middle to curve round either side of her long neck, lending her a joint elegance and smartness which her stylist must have taken considerable pride in. Although she looked much better than she had previously, the soft duck-egg blue of her coat was still marred by the tired bags under her eyes and her smile of greeting was somewhat strained by fear and caution. The first would go away soon enough, seeing as she would have a comfortable bed to sleep in from now on, but the second would take time to work away. Briefly, I wondered why I cared at all that she was afraid of me: her emotions were both unsurprising and, I would have thought, irrelevant. She was effectively a prisoner of war, no matter how well I treated her – which in itself was a bizarre way for me to act – and I was the Queen of not one but two nations, with so many more important things to care about than her feelings towards me. It was troubling, yet I couldn’t help but reply favourably – soothingly, even – as she apologised: “Sorry I took so long, Your Highness, I just wanted to get cleaned up, too, because breakfast didn’t take long to finish. I hope I haven’t inconvenienced you, My Queen: I promise it won’t happen again.” Such verbal appeasement from the pony ought to have made me feel ill, or at the very least irritated, yet some illogical yearning to become closer to the unicorn wove my reply into a meaningless tapestry of reassurance and friendliness. “It is fine, Scrolls: I had barely finished reading my report when you arrived, so you are perfectly on schedule. You look much better for your wash… I do quite like your mane style: very smart; as it should be.” The comment had been harmless enough, but still I cursed myself for adding such superfluous compliments to what had already been an irrelevant reassurance, and doubly so for being pleased at the earnest smile it earned me. I suppose my overriding train of though was this: I had a country to run; prisoners to interrogate; an alicorn to keep at bay and a nigh-dead mare to save – I had neither the time nor the need to be distracted by such foalish ambitions as making friends. Nevertheless, the impulse seemed to be determined to remain in place, and I decided to ignore it in favour of focusing on more pressing matters. “Anyway, now that we are both ready to depart – and I trust you are ready to depart, Ms. Scrolls – I have some important work to attend to, with your assistance. If you do well here, I see no reason our working relationship should cease to be pleasant and mutually beneficial – if you disappoint me, however, I may have to think about enlisting you in… less pleasant lines of work.” I stood from my throne, mentally cheering my return to cold professionalism, and watched as Scrolls gulped at the implications of my closing statement. Getting over it rather quickly, she straightened herself up to her full height and said, almost defiantly: “I shall endeavour to do my best, Your Highness.” To my internal self-disappointment, I could not help a return to my previously friendly tone as I replied: “That’s all I ask, Scrolls… There should be some stationery supplies over there; take what you need, and don’t rush: I can wait a minute longer.” How was I supposed to get anywhere seesawing back and forth like this? Perhaps, in due time, the one-changeling ‘good cop, bad cop’ routine would coerce her to behave as I intended, but I could not discern much of a positive result so far. Remembering a number of infiltrators who had noted similar, peculiar urges to do right by ponies; I wondered momentarily if there might be something more to those tales than the storytellers’ own softness towards ponies. If so, no wonder I was finding it difficult to retain my cold, impassive tone around the unicorn: her pleasant demeanour, coupled with her usefulness thus far, would make me an easy target for any passive emotion magic with an intent to make me like her. This was even more troubling to me than it had been previously – with our minds connected in a network of mutual trust and respect, the idea of an outside force interfering with our thought processes was a horrific one for most changelings – myself included. Shaking these worries aside, I deliberately thought back to what I should have been preoccupied with – Twilight Sparkle – and soaked myself in the sorrow so that the cold dread would linger in my mind and keep my focus on the real issue here. Scrolls returned, snapping me out of my melancholy thoughts, and I turned my attention once again to the present. She stood patiently to attention, saddle bags fastened and neatly filled with the necessary supplies, and I, seeing no reason to remain in the throne room any longer, started on my way out. “Come on,” I said, “We’ve work to do, and time waits for no one.” IV: INTERROGATIONS FOR MACHINATIONS Escorted as ever by my Praetorians, I and Ms. Scrolls neared our destination a little over ten minutes after our departure from the throne room. Scrolls looked around herself with mixed fear and curiosity as we trotted down the narrow staircase leading to the deepest, most secure section of Canterlot Palace’s dungeons; I myself did not bat an eyelid: the minor squalor around me paled considerably when compared to the torrid slums my hive had called home the past decade; I could not think of any changeling who would prefer freedom there to incarceration here. At least in the dungeons you were guaranteed a meal, a veritable luxury back home. As we began the final approach, I pushed the memories away and fixed the prison guards with a commanding stare. We would never have to live like that again: the entire point of the invasion was so that changelings like the two now unlocking the gate would be able to live without fear of being struck down by disease or starving after another dead harvest. “My Queen –“ said the Legionary on the left, saluting; “ – what services do you require of us?” “At ease, Decanus. I wish to see the suspects, I trust that will not be problematic?” Following his gaze, I explained Scrolls’ presence in the dungeon. “My assistant, Ms. Starlit Scrolls, will be assisting me in recording the interrogations. She has experience working within Equestrian government, and I feel her viewpoint on such matters may prove to be as useful as her literary abilities.” A buzz of understanding hummed through my horn, indicating without words that the Legionary was satisfied by my answer to his unspoken question. He let us through, while his partner maintained a vigilant watch over the cells, her glaive drawn in readiness for any eventuality. “Your Highness – Interrogation? Suspects?” questioned Scrolls; and I attempted to answer without giving away too much of the classified information which was inevitably intertwined with the matter. “Yes, Ms. Scrolls – interrogation. These five ponies actively fought against my forces; they are both powerful opposition and fiercely loyal to the princesses. A more ruthless leader than I would have had them executed – they pose a significant threat, even captured, and they are unlikely to conform to my regime – but I value life above all else, especially lives as vibrant as theirs.” “Oh,” she said. “But what crime have they committed? Besides fighting your soldiers – and I rather doubt you lack proof to charge them on that front – what could they be suspected of?” “I’m afraid I cannot say that, Ms. Scrolls.” As amiable as I might have felt towards the unicorn, the subtle influence of pony magic thankfully did not push me past the point of spilling highly classified information just yet. Our taciturn guide – the Decanus from the gate – spoke only once more, explaining as he gestured toward the cells which of our five special prisoners inhabited each one. He left us to return to his post, and half my contingent of Praetorians followed a short way to take up position at each major entry point to the area. The rest stood guard along the corridor, barring the two who unlocked the first cell and followed Scrolls and I into its interior. Within the cell lay an earth pony, well-built but not unattractive, with a practically styled mane the colour of straw and dusty orange coat. As we entered, she got to her hooves with a clattering of chains and shot me a glare and Scrolls a look of utter bewilderment. I glanced at my assistant, nodding meaningfully, and she began unpacking her saddlebags: out came the sheets of parchment, sealed bottles of ink and quills she had neatly packed before our departure. Before too long, she was ready, a quill and a sheet of parchment held steadily in her topaz magic, her ink pot sitting to one side. “Now, Ms. Scrolls, I think you should have little difficulty completing this task. I need you to note down everything which is said here, along with any other details you think relevant. If you are ready, I shall begin.” Scrolls nodded affirmative, so I turned to the mare who’d been glaring hatefully at me for the past minute and began the interrogation. “In case you had any doubts, I am Chrysalis, Queen of the Western Changeling Hives and, as of yesterday, Equestria. First things first, what is your name?” “Applejack” she grunted. Despite her bad attitude, I took the fact that she’d answered at all as a good omen and continued with slightly higher hopes for success. “Your date of birth?” “Sixteenth of May, one-thousand-and-eighth year of Princess Celestia’s reign. I live in Ponyville, with my older brother McIntosh Apple and my little sister Apple Bloom. I have a dog, her name is Winona, I work on an apple orchard on the edge of town and my favourite colour is slate grey. Anything else you need to know, Your Highness?” She sneered the last part, but I could detect no deceit in her words – it looked like Solid Case may have been right about her status as Bearer of Honesty, which boded well for the interrogation. Waiting until Scrolls had noted down that slew of information, I then turned my gaze back to Applejack and began the second phase of my questioning. “Now, Applejack, I’m going to say some names and I want you to say the first thing that comes into your mind. Got that? – Very good, the first name is: Princess Celestia” “...Guardian.” “Interesting… now: Princess Luna.” “...Mystery.” “Princess Cadance.” “...Stranger.” “…Queen Chrysalis?” “Greedy. Manipulating. Tyrant. Bitch.” Scrolls looked at me in concern when Applejack voiced this eloquent opinion, but I merely laughed it off. “While I can’t say I like your opinion of me, your candour is certainly refreshing. Let us return to the subject at hoof: Fluttershy.” Applejack’s eyes widened a little, and she half-glanced towards the butter-yellow pegasus in the adjacent cell before hurriedly correcting her gaze so that her eyes burnt furious holes in mine. “Brave.” Noting which pony she’d looked at for future reference, I brought up the baby dragon who’d been missing since the wedding in the hopes that her response would clue me into his location. “Spike?” “Well-meaning.” So much for that, then: whilst it was nice to hear the dragon’s heart was in the right place, this did not aid in my finding the rest of him. “Rainbow Dash.” “Dependable.” This certainly fit in with the suspicions that she bore the Element of Loyalty – dependency is a trait only attainable via loyalty, after all. At least some puzzles were coming together, even if Sparkle’s assistant remained missing. Used to multitasking, I carried on with my list of names whilst mulling this over. “Rarity.” The earth pony struggled for a moment with this one, conflicting emotions running across her face and buzzing discordantly in my horn as she made up her mind, eventually settling on “…Unique.” There was only one name I could really bring up now, and I needed the full set no matter how much pain it caused me to remember her name. “…Twilight… Sparkle,” I spluttered out, blanching as the image of her broken body came unwanted out of the depths of my memory to present itself macabrely in the forefront of my mind. “Glue.” An interesting answer, but one that did not take me long to figure out: when I did, it only served to make me feel worse; the memory of Twilight Sparkle’s loose, empty gaze staring coldly into my guilty eyes. She had been the one to keep these unlikely friends together, and without her they would likely crumble into unfamiliarity and dislike: just one more thing I had ruined by dooming her. Tears swam in my eyes, and I closed them to prevent them falling; covering my eyes with my hooves and mournfully whining into the crooks of my forelegs. A tap of a hoof on my shoulder brought me back to reality, and I slowly raised my head to meet the amber gaze of Starlit Scrolls, whose own eyes were filled with a concern I felt was genuine in my horn and in my heart. “Queen Chrysalis, are you alright?” Although ‘Your Highness’ had – being more of an expression of subservience and less of an impassive statement – been more satisfying to hear up to this point, it was far more comforting to hear her say my name in that concerned tone than ‘Your Highness’ ever could’ve managed. It’s funny, the things I remember with the most detail. “I’m fine, Starlit. Just magical exhaustion – like pulling a muscle in your leg by running too fast. It’ll pass soon enough, I hope.” Scrolls took that answer without question, but Applejack’s eyes flashed with suspicion: she knew how full of lies that sentence had been; of course she did. Not one part of it had been true: I was a long way from being ‘fine’; my magic was without issue; and it would not go away soon – if I didn’t figure something out, it might never go away. Turning to the chained mare, I said “- Thank you, that will be all for now -“ before hastening to leave and move onto the cell of the pegasus I presumed was Fluttershy, wiping the one tear which had escaped with a covert hoof as I swept my mane from my face. Knowing what to do by this point, Scrolls set herself up in very little time at all, I used the short break to regain my composure and examine the mare in front of me. One of Stormy Day Matinee’s Legionaries had mentioned the evening prior that they had not been successful in getting her to speak in anything beyond unintelligibly quiet squeaks, and I pondered how I was to get anything of use out of her. She was supposed to be Element of Kindness, so perhaps she would respond better if I showed her what she’d given her friends all these years? “Alright, Ms. Scrolls, are you ready?” She nodded, so I returned my gaze to the lightly quivering pegasus and tried my best to reduce my intimidating appearance. “Hello,” I said, with as much softness as I could muster, but moments after she opened her eyes she jolted in fear and shut them in fear again. Evidently something about the way I looked had set her off: I sighed. “It’s the fangs, isn’t it? Here, I’ll get rid of them for you.” They disappeared in a flash of green flame, making my smile just as flat as any pony’s; and I followed on from it by softening the sharp green of my eyes, widening the pupils to match the usual pony ones and switching my horn out for a typical unicorn one. “Better?” I asked, and this time she did not immediately return to her fearful cowering upon opening her eyes, although she still shook with fear. “I’m not going to hurt you, alright? I just want to talk to you… say, if you’ll speak with me, I’ll let you all have a section of the palace of your own to roam around in. How does that sound? You and your friends, out of these chains and with a little piece of freedom, just for talking to me?” She squeaked something that sounded like “-I don’t trust you-” and I sighed again. This was hard work, but the potential results were still worth it… I hoped. “Look, I’ll let you have that even if you don’t talk to me, as a gesture of goodwill. I don’t hate you, Fluttershy, I can understand why you and your friends did what you did – you were sticking up for your own, and I was doing the same for mine, that’s all. The thing is, Spike is missing and if you know where he is, I need to know. Twilight isn’t very well, and not knowing where he is hasn’t helped her get any better.” She sat bolt upright at that, her long mane flying up into the air from the speed of the movement. “What’s happened to Twilight?! Is she okay?! You have to tell me!” Her rapid switch from fearful mutterings to assertive demands took me aback, and I raced to come up with a sufficient answer to quell her burningly expectant glare. “She’s fallen very badly ill: a plague from the badlands. It’s my fault, really, it only got here because one of my changelings was sick with it and now she’s got it. I’ve had to quarantine an entire battalion and everyone they came into contact with, and we… we don’t have a cure yet.” I’d said too much, and stuck far too closely to the truth. It was that stare - I had known there was something unnatural about it and now I was spilling my guts to this unassuming mare – she was even more overtaken by emotion now, tears spilling from her eyes as she cried out: “She’s going to be okay, isn’t she? She has to! You’ll… you’ll find a cure, won’t you? You can’t let her die!” She was still using that stare of hers, even while the tears fell and she began to sob: I couldn’t help but answer her, and in doing so reveal much more than I’d wanted to. “Of course we’re looking for a cure! I don’t want anyone to die – I never wanted that! – I only wanted my changelings to have some food for once, somewhere to live… nothing like this! She’ll… she’ll be alright, I think. She’s a strong mare, I can save her… I know I will.” Phlogiston damn her – now I, a Queen, was crying my eyes out like a common foal – all her fault, for reminding me of what I’d done and making me tell her. Why are these ponies so good at making me do what they want, all of a sudden? First the urge to be kind, and now to be honest… how was I supposed to get anything done like this? The soft forelegs of my assistant pulled me in, and I couldn’t muster the conviction to make her let me go. I just cried into her shoulder: in front of my prisoners, in front of my changelings… what would they think of me now? A Queen was supposed to be strong, and now they’d seen me break down not once but twice in the same ten minute period… soon they’d be asking for my abdication, if they didn’t take it by force. I realised I must have said some of this out loud, because the armoured hooves of one of my Praetorians joined those of Starlit Scrolls in comforting me and the deep voice of my Praetorian Decanus rolled softly into my ear. “You shouldn’t worry, My Queen: we’re not going to think you weak for letting it all out, even if you could’ve picked a better spot to do it. I can’t begin to understand the stress you must be under, trying to stabilise an entire country and find a cure for a badlands plague at the same time… dealing with all that head-on instead of just running away makes you stronger than any Queen we’ve ever had.” Following his lead, another of my soldiers spoke her mind; helping me pull myself together: “You saved us all from starvation, Chrysalis: even the most disloyal changeling can’t deny you’ve done a great job of it. There was always going to be a side effect of something this big, and I’m just glad it’s something we can help with. You have a friend in all of us, and I think you’d do well to remember that.” As the other Legionaries gave enthusiastic calls of agreement, I opened my eyes at last and eased myself free of the embrace; bringing myself shakily to my hooves and looking gratefully into their eyes. “Thank you, that means a lot to hear; but I-I think I had better call this visit short. I’ll start making preparations for these five’s transfer and get working on some other things.” Signalling to Scrolls to follow me out of the cell, I trotted tiredly away and along the stone corridor which led to the stairs. It was high time I left, and in a half-conscious shuffle I made my way up the spiral staircase to return to my throne and the distractions which would come with it. V: OF CONVERSATIONS AND INTERRUPTIONS Starlit Scrolls accompanied me wordlessly as I made my way back to throne room, occasionally glancing at me like she wanted to say something but always turning away without making a sound. Always, that is, except for the last time: we were back in the palace proper, in an empty hallway, when she turned to me and stopped dead, forcing me to do the same. My Praetorians, once they’d ascertained that she wanted to speak to me rather than attack me, stepped back out of earshot of her whispered question. “I’ve seen the reports, Your Highness; there is no quarantined battalion. There isn’t a plague, is there?” She said this quietly and seriously; voice hushed and suspicious, whilst her eyes demanded the truth. I no longer had the strength to lie, so I admitted, heavily: “No, there isn’t… Sparkle isn’t well, though, and it is my fault. I don’t want her to die, really I don’t, but I’ve got no idea what to do to save her. And now I’ve got Fluttershy to worry about if I fail… Phlogiston damn it! Why can’t I be the heartless bitch this invasion needs? How can I run Equestria with all this hanging over me, Starlit?” Her gaze softened considerably at this admission, and she opened her mouth, presumably to offer comfort. However, whatever she was about to say was cut off by a flash of light from her horn, a loud bang and a glowing object which shot from its tip and arced through the air. My Praetorians closed the gap in milliseconds, pulling me out of the way and extending their glaives in Starlit’s direction. Taken by surprise, it took me a moment to realise what had just happened, and a few more for me to realise that the wailing noise was my assistant screaming in terror: “It’s just a letter! I wasn’t trying to hurt her – just look at it, it’s only Princess Luna’s response, I swear!” Lifting the object off of the ground, I could see that it was as she said: a scroll had shot from her horn, rather than anything combat-oriented. I called out sharply for the Praetorians to leave her alone. They pulled back, some of them looking ashamed at their hasty actions when they saw that she’d been telling the truth: clutched in my emerald magic was indeed Princess Luna’s letter; her midnight blue seal clearly visible on the scroll’s surface. I looked between the letter and the shocked, quivering unicorn – which should I deal with first: which was the most important? – the letter, of course, was far more significant to the greater scheme of things than one prisoner-of-war’s hurt feelings. It was clearly the right choice. I dropped it on the tiled floor and pulled Starlit into a hug, comforting her like she should’ve been comforting me. Once again, the bizarre compulsion to do right by ponies overrode logic, but for the first time I didn’t care all that much. I held her until her breathing returned to normal and released her slowly; giving her a reassuring smile as I reached behind me for the discarded letter with my magic. Together, we walked the last stretch to the throne room and sat together around the cluttered command table. Whatever I’d wanted this morning, unforeseen circumstances had forced us together and I no longer cared to resist it. VI: A THREAT OF ECLIPSE With Scrolls at my side, I opened the scroll and unrolled it to read the contents: it was not a long message, but certainly no one-paragraph response either. It read: Queen Chrysalis, We must advise you against such actions as harming my sister: one would certainly think the last thing you would want would be a millennia-old alicorn with nothing to lose. Make no mistake, vicious little hornet, if even a hair of her mane is harmed by your hooves we will hunt you down across entire kingdoms until you collapse in exhaustion, and only then will we set about the process of ending your miserable little existence in as slow and painful a fashion as possible. You have been warned, and you would do well to heed our warning: no other will come, and our response will be without remorse should you ignore it. Additionally, I wonder if it has yet occurred to your fly-sized mind that we are the only thing keeping day and night going? If it weren’t for the fact that innocents would be harmed in the process of pausing this cycle, we would already have plunged your tyrannical regime into darkness or scorched it from Equestria’s good earth. You may have prevented us from acting in any significant military way against you, but rest assured that there are many more ways to destroy you, and destroy you we will. Enjoy your rule while it lasts, Chrysalis, for it will not last long – we will make quite sure of that. Yours sincerely, Your destined destroyer, Princess Luna of Equestria We stared, slack-jawed, at the slew of hateful threats and insults, pondering how much truth lay behind her promises of destruction and reading it over again and again to find some glimmer of hope within its dark folds. There was none - Luna was right: I could not control the day or night, and the only other pony who could was also the one who was most capable of killing me. I had never intended to hurt Celestia, and had merely wanted to scare Luna into submission through my threat – now it was apparent I had kicked a thousand hornets’ nests with my bumbling attempts at blackmail, leaving myself trapped under the full weight of the moon’s wrath. The crushing silence did nothing to ease the feeling of damnation, and I soaked in the atmosphere of dread I had found myself inside. Starlit was the first to speak, choosing a wide arrangement of expletives to express her dismay at the letter. I merely nodded stupidly in agreement and stared numb-mindedly at the parchment clutched in my magic, unable to process what I had just read. Finally, after the longest silence, I was able to speak: resigned and despondent and thoroughly defeated. “It’s finished…” I muttered sorrowfully. “After all that effort… It’s all come undone. I wanted to save my changelings, but all I’ve done is doom them to a cruel period of hope, so they can be smashed one final time into the dirt by a furious goddess… Starlit, where did I fail them so badly?” Cautiously, she reached a consoling hoof over to my shoulder and did her best to improve my morbid mood. “You haven’t failed them, Chrysalis. This isn’t your fault! Let’s… let’s just sit and talk it over, I’m sure if we just think for a while we’ll find a way around this. You-“ I cut her off, unwilling to hear any more of her hope-inducing fallacies; choking out my dismissal: “There is no way around this, Scrolls. It’s finished, and I’m tired, and I’m really not in the mood to talk right now. Just… leave me alone, please.” Standing from the table, I shuffled like a mare on her way to the gallows towards the privacy of my bedchambers, ignoring her distant calls for me to come back and talk about it. I was done. VII: AN UNINVITED GUEST As one can probably imagine, I was not in the mood for conversation – or any interruption, for that matter – when I returned to my chambers. To my surprise, outrage and - less strongly – relief, I found someone already in my room, rooting around in the bag of friendship reports with all the stealth of a radioactive elephant. “You really shouldn’t be here,” I said coldly, preparing the spitting venom in my palate sac whilst simultaneously charging a magical beam in readiness to strike. The intruder jumped at the sound of my voice and fell clumsily in the pile of scrolls it’d been amassing – presumably to check they were all there – with a loud thump. Leaning forward to get a better look at him (I assumed from the sound they made upon landing that they were male) I could see under the green light of my glowing horn that he was no pony: about the size of a ten year old foal, with bright purple scales and lime green fins adorning his head, there was no way this could be anyone besides Twilight Sparkle's dragon assistant. “Spike...?” I asked, scarcely able to believe who the would-be-spy appeared to be . “I’m curious: where have you been all this time? More importantly, what are you doing with Twilight Sparkle’s letters?” “I-I… Don't kill me, please, OH CELESTIA I DON’T WANT TO DIE!” The baby dragon wailed accordingly and, irritated beyond words, I lowered my horn; bared my fangs and snapped at him: “Would you shut up?!” I snarled: apparently the compulsion to be nice did not work with dragons. Luckily for him, he did just that; but unluckily for my patience he then transitioned to rocking back and forth on the floor, whimpering in fear. Finally losing all ability to care about my many problems, I ignored the dragon’s terror and curled up on my bed, the tears finally falling freely after the evening’s final, vicious blows to my sanity. Eventually I became aware of the cessation of the dragon’s noise, but in my despondency I did not have the energy to check that he was still there. Several minutes passed where my sobbing was the only sound in the room, until a weight dipped my bed slightly and a smoothly scaled forearm reached out to stroke my mane comfortingly. Too tired to be surprised by Spike’s course of action, I fell slowly asleep in the company of the dragon and my fears. Exhausted as I was, sleep didn’t offer me the comfort of unconsciousness: nightmares found me in the dark of my own mind and set upon my sorrowful heart like wolves, and I screamed into my pillow as the ghost of Twilight Sparkle herself sentenced me to eternal damnation. I did not sleep well. END OF CHAPTER TWO